


Shared Moments

by VickyVicarious



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 33,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Captain Swan ficlets based off prompts I've received on Tumblr. 1,500 words or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'One Time Thing'

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts are in bold.

**"'A one-time thing', eh love?"**

* * *

"Shut up," Emma breathed against his lips, panting into his mouth for a moment before pressing forward again, greedily, hands caught in his hair, heart racing. Henry was safe, they were home, everything was _fine_ and she could finally have this, she’d made her choice and _this was it_ and it was perfect, he was gasping into her, hook digging into the small of her back, hand fisted in her hair, god it had been so long and it felt _so right_.

"I’m - not complaining," Hook gasped between short, fierce kisses, unbothered by Emma’s frustrated growl; he simply caught her lip between his teeth and bit down gently, pulling her in a little closer until she was whimpering and in danger of losing her balance. "It just seems to me that - you might want to warn a man about your - _bloody hell Emma_ \- false advertising -“

Emma put her hands flat against his shoulders and shoved him violently away. He slammed hard into the wall, and she could finally see what she’d done to him. His hair was rucked up wildly, his coat half-shoved off his shoulders and several buttons of his shirt undone. His lips were red, mouth open as he panted, chest heaving, his eyes burning the hottest blue.

"God, do you ever shut up?" Emma pleaded, even as she followed him, pressed him even harder against the wall and began shoving his coat down his arms, sucking a deep mark into his neck as she did so, nuzzling into him, climbing onto him, pressing kisses to his skin, touching him wherever she could, _god-_

Hook’s laugh was one of utter, giddy joy, as his fingers inched up under the back of her shirt, hook sliding over her ass, she had to lean up and kiss him again, taking his head in both her hands, a long, loud, messy kiss to cut off his laughter, such an intense kiss that for a moment they both had to stop everything and just catch their breath afterwards, foreheads resting together.

"Ohhh, darling, you’re welcome to try and make me," Hook breathed against her lips, and Emma opened her eyes to see him grinning at her, blue eyes alight with mischief and arousal and just complete _joy_ that set her heart beating out of time, her head spinning dizzily, every inch of her body warming and aching for his touch.

"You won’t even know what words _are_ when I’m through with you,” she promised, and dove back in.


	2. Close Shave

**Ooooooh. What about just a quick back and forth about when Emma almost hits him with the saber. You were supposed to be a good pirate, lass! You don't just go swinging it around! Almost taking people's eyes out! a lil wink nudge nudge.**

 

"I must say I’m disappointed, love."

Emma glanced up in surprise, eyes widening at the sight of Hook standing over her. A quick glance around camp showed Tink and Neal engaged in eager conversation, while Mary-Margaret and David spoke quietly where they were curled together by the fire, as they had been ever since they’d made up. She turned back to Hook with a glare.

“You’re disappointed? After today, really, _you’re_ disappointed?”

He blinked, then scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck and coughed a little. “Ah… not about that. You were bloody brilliant Emma, as always, and I apologize for my - I wasn’t intending to - you’re not a prize to be won, I know that, and this isn’t the time. It won’t happen again.”

His eyes were incredibly sincere, his voice transitioning smoothly from embarrassed to sincere, soft but determined, the same voice he’d used when promising her _I will win your heart_ and _you will rescue Henry_. For a moment, all she could do was stare, heart pounding.

"There’s never gonna be a time for the crap you guys were pulling," she grumbled, finally recovering as she glanced away from him and pushed to her feet. She was just about to walk away, regain some much-needed space between them, when his hand landed on her arm.

"Ah, but that wasn’t what I intended to discuss," Hook said. He waited until Emma turned fully back to face him, cocking a curious brow, before he dropped his hand and continued. "It isn’t that I don’t relish any close contact between us, darling, but a close shave wasn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Emma’s brow scrunched. “What?”

Hook smirked a little, gesturing at the air just in front of his face. “Earlier, when you were handing Neal his cutlass - you came this close to me, lass.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “I - I did?”

"You did," Hook confirmed, shaking his head sadly from side to side. "And then later, against the Shadows - well, you did a sight better than I, I won’t deny that, but you’re not wielding a club, darling, where in the bloody hell did you learn to manage a sword?"

Emma frowned, trying not to take offense. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t.” When Hook leaned in curiously, she shrugged and elaborated. “Look, I didn’t even know that magic was real until about a month ago. And shit has been going down every day since, I haven’t exactly had time to take lessons.”

"Ah," Hook said, watching her closely. "Ah, I see."

"I think I’ve done pretty well for myself, anyway," Emma said defensively. "The first time I ever picked up a sword, I managed to kill a _dragon_ \- and I beat you too, so…”

Hook smirked.

"Oh, come _on_ ,” Emma groaned. “Really? We were _enemies_ then, I thought you were supposed to be _done with me_.”

"Well, I think it’s safe to say neither of those have taken very well," Hook grinned. "But… you’re entirely new to swordplay, that is a relief.”

"A relief? It’s _good_ that I can’t handle a sword?”

"Of course," Hook said, hand falling to the hilt of his sword. "This means that you’ll be starting fresh, I won’t have to re-teach you anything."

"Re- you think we have time for sword lessons _now?_ " Despite her words, Emma reached for her own sword - glancing behind herself before unsheathing it this time.

"It’s better than staring blankly into the fire," Hook shrugged, drawing his own weapon. "Not to mention, it would be a shame to let you back on my ship while you’re so lacking in this regard - you’re such a perfect pirate otherwise."

Emma scoffed, but brought her blade up to bear, tense and at the ready. Hook held his own sword aloft for a moment - before lowering it with a chuckle and stepping forward.

"First, we’ll discuss your grip," he said, softly and with clear affection, fingers wrapping warmly about her own.


	3. Better Than Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Companion to 'Wake, Die, Fly' - chapter four.

**“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”**

He’d first dreamed of her the very day they had met - after climbing the beanstalk, fighting a giant, and straining and raging against his cuffs for the first four hours, Hook had been exhausted, had slipped far too easily into sleep.

He’d dreamed of her, for the six hours until the giant woke him and set him free - dreamed of kissing her by the tripwire, of killing her for her betrayal, forgiving her, had dreamed of no betrayal at all. He’d dreamed of love and lust and loss, hate, heat, and Emma, Emma, _Emma_ , and woken more furious than ever.

She’d haunted him after that.

In his dreams almost every night, she’d tortured him with her touch, her words, with everything he hadn’t wanted since Milah, she’d ruined him and saved him and fucked him and made tender love, not a night went by without her on his mind.

Once they arrived in Neverland, it got even worse: he was completely lost, utterly in love and no longer cared to hide it. She’d _kissed him_ , gods, and it had been better than anything he’d ever imagined, he dreamed of it every night since. He dreamed of her loving him, choosing him, trusting him and calling him by his name, kissing him in front of everyone and her parents simply smiling. He dreamed of reuniting her with her boy, of losing her to Neal, of losing her to the ocean or Pan or anything else, of _having_ her, just of her, just Emma, Emma, loving her.

And then they’d done it - they’d saved Henry, and returned to Storybrooke.  She was home, she was safe, Neal was always around, Killian fought for her harder than he’d ever fought for anything. He spent time with Henry, he spent time with David, he lingered around Emma as much as possible without invading her boundaries, flirting, confiding, just trying to help her, show her what he’d do for her (anything, anything).

It all culminated here, tonight, in his cabin. She’d come knocking on his door late in the evening, eyes shadowed, lips chewed raw, swallowing hard and breath shaking a little, and he’d asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing," she breathed. "Nothing, I’ve… I’ve made my choice."

And then she was kissing him, _kissing him_ , she’d chosen _him_ , soft at first but then harder, faster, they couldn’t stop even to breathe, they’d gone stumbling about the room like adolescents, clumsy with laughter and kisses and he’d known it might not be wise but he couldn’t help himself, he’d whispered it over every inch of her skin, “I love you, I love you, Emma, gods Emma, _I love you_.”

She hadn’t run. She’d called him by his name, she’d clung on just as hard and whimpered and moaned and screamed for him, and then afterwards she’d curled up and gone to sleep in his arms like there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

And he kissed her, gentle, quiet kisses to her hair, her shoulder, he stroked his thumb along her arm, not wanting to wake her but unable to stop, to ever stop, traced invisible _love_ s across her bare skin and breathed her in and was far too afraid to fall asleep.

He didn’t want to sleep, no dreams could ever match this, he didn’t want to ever sleep again. Killian pressed his face into her neck, smiling against the curve of it when she shifted a little and her hand found his. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, vowing never to sleep, nothing could ever match this, his very soul was singing and he’d never sleep…

He woke to sunlight across his face, and Emma pressing kisses down his chest.


	4. Wake, Die, Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Companion to 'Better Than Dreams' - chapter three.

**“Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.”**

Loving Neal had once been the best thing that ever happened to Emma. She had finally found someone to care for, someone who cared just as much for her in return. A partner, in crime and in bed and in every other waking moment, he was her family and friend and all she knew, all she thought she could ever need. Her life had been empty before him; he was the first person she had known in her entire life who’d said “I love you” and wasn’t lying.

And despite the fact that they had nothing outside of each other and a stolen car - or perhaps because of that - those months spent with Neal felt slow, sweet, almost unreal in their flawed perfection, like a dream dipped in honey.

When he left her, she went utterly numb, broke completely, her heart and her trust and her home and her hope, all gone in that instant. But the months in prison that followed still felt dreamlike, in their own way, as her stomach grew and the days floated by. It was only giving birth that finally broke the days out of their timeless haze - she could _feel_ her baby leaving her, he was no dream, he was real and crying and she couldn’t keep him, couldn’t touch, couldn’t even _look at him_ , he was leaving and it was better, it was better but she was broken and she realized she could not trust any more.

* * *

The second time was so much quicker, and far less sweet, far less fantasy because she recognized it from the start and tried to crush it down. Graham was cute, and funny, and cute when was _trying_ to be funny, and he was kind and sweet and flirty. And he was the town Sheriff, he was a good man who only wanted the best, he was a lonely man, he was desperate in a way that hit all too close to home, and she did not want it, did not want him when he was with Regina, did not want to go through this again, it was nothing, nothing, _nothing_.

But then he got sick. He started acting… frankly, a little crazy, and she had no idea what was going on but she wanted to help him. She wanted so badly to help him, wanted anything to lessen his hurt, refused to recognize what she wanted because she  _knew_ what lay down that road, it hurt too much, he’d leave, he’d ruin her, he - wasn’t that sort of man, he wasn’t that type of person at all, she couldn’t help but think that he wouldn’t ever choose to leave her, couldn’t help but hope around him.

And he left Regina, for himself. He was brave and strong even in the midst of his delirium, he stood up for himself and left with her afterwards, smiled so softly and Emma just couldn’t anymore, she couldn’t stop herself. She chose to open up, chose to take a chance and he smiled at her with tears in his eyes and it wasn’t love, couldn’t have been love, _perhaps it was love_ –

When he died, she couldn’t help but think it was her fault. She knew he’d had a heart attack, knew it wasn’t anything she had done, but she couldn’t help feeling that if only she had never opened up to him, if only she had never kissed him, if only… he wouldn’t be dead.

She tied his shoelace around her wrist and something in Emma died that day, was buried alongside Graham, in a hole as far as possible from the Mills mausoleum, with a small gravestone that she kissed once and never visited again.

* * *

The third time, she fought it even harder. She battled it every step of the way, ignored it, ignored her feelings and Hook’s feelings and Hook altogether when she could, shoved it away because she _knew_ , she knew twice over and she couldn’t bear to think what would break this time. She could not trust him, she refused to hope for any future, she shut him down and put him down and denied everything.

_He came back._

She couldn’t trust him, couldn’t believe him, she wouldn’t let him in. But it didn’t matter, he just followed after her and offered her a drink, offered her a sword, told her she’d done well, agreed with her plans, offered a drink, led them all closer to Henry, walked close by her and smiled, didn’t ever look away.

_He saved David_.

And she’d given in, just for a moment, just a moment, it had been the best kiss of her life. He’d kissed her like she was all he could ever want, like he’d _wanted_ for so long, kissed her so hard and deep and rested his forehead against her own and he’d been _wrecked_ but it was just a kiss, just a kiss, she’d been feeling good and it was just a kiss, nothing more.

_As you wish_.

Then Neal had come back, and Hook had told her - she couldn’t dare to think about what he’d told her, couldn’t bring herself to think about his words or about the look in his eyes or about what he said the day after, how he’d sworn she would choose him. She couldn’t choose anyone, she couldn’t trust anyone or love anyone, she could not –

He almost died and the fear that ripped through her felt like Graham in her arms, like hearing the doctor walk out the door and Henry’s cries fading away as it shut, like everything that had ever broken her down, she screamed his name and she _saved him_ , he was alive, he was still there, she hadn’t lost him.

He stayed, that was the thing, he stayed by her side every day and didn’t ever push her further. He helped save Henry, he brought her home, and then he stuck around - always popping up around town, ‘bumping into her’ on the street with a smile and _that look in his eyes_ , and one day Emma finally just drove to the graveyard.

She walked over to Graham’s grave for the first time since the funeral, throat closing up. Someone had been maintaining it - the grass was neatly mowed, and there was even a small bouquet of flowers laid out for him. Emma hadn’t heard his name spoken aloud since the week after he’d died, but there were flowers here, someone had cared enough - maybe after the curse broke, someone had cared enough to come and leave him flowers, and she had to brush away tears, whispered “thank you” and “goodbye.”

Hook - Killian, Killian, he’d called himself that when they first met - let her into his cabin confusedly, eyes scanning her up and down, and he asked her what was wrong, called her ‘love’, called her ‘love’ and she had to do this, suddenly all that mattered was that she do this.

"Nothing," she breathed. "Nothing, I’ve… I’ve made my choice."

And he kissed her back right away, kissed her and fumbled her closer and laughed against her skin and he was desperate, she was desperate, she needed him wanted him _love_ -

"I love you," he kept telling her, voice breaking, moaning it, sighing it, hoarse sometimes and gentle, frantic sometimes and slow, "I love you, I love you, Emma, I love you."

And she didn’t know when it had happened, didn’t know _how_ , had fought it every step of the way but she couldn’t anymore, didn’t want to anymore, this wasn’t a dream or a hope doomed to break, this was just him, her, this was waking up wrapped tight in his arm and feeling so _warm_ and _happy_ and _light_.

She was still just as scarred, just as hurt, but this was different, this was - this was him loving her, lifting her up, this was _loving him back_ , even if she couldn’t say it yet, this was loving him and wanting him and feeling like she didn’t even need the pixie dust, her thoughts were more than enough.

So Emma pulled out of his arms, and turned to kiss him awake, each new touch feeling like flying higher.


	5. Braid

**I need Killian brushing Emma's hair. For CS fluff month :)**

 

When she was a little girl, _Peter Pan_ had been Emma’s favorite story - and, by extension, Neverland was her favorite place. Obviously, given her experiences with fairy tales ever since she’d broken the curse (and particularly given the reason she was visiting) Emma hadn’t been expecting the island to be everything she’d dreamed… But she hadn’t really expected to _actively hate it_ , either.

It wasn’t even just because of Pan. Him too, of course, and the mermaids, and Lost Boys, they were all wrong. But that was expected by now - and still, Neverland itself rubbed Emma the wrong way. It was always dark, dusk or night, with only a few rare moments of real sunlight. There was the dreamshade to watch out for, along with a variety of other less-than-appealing fauna. It was hot and muggy sometimes, and at other points got rather cold for no apparent reason. And of course there was the fact that they were essentially camping - Emma had little to no experience with tending a fire, or hunting, or even setting up tents and she felt out of her depths in the simplest and most irritating of ways. But the worst irritation was also honestly the most minor: Emma’s long hair was getting tangled and sticking to her sweaty skin, not to mention she didn’t want it in her face during any fighting to come - she wanted to put it up but she didn’t have any sort of hair-tie.

It was such a little thing, but it was _annoying_ and Emma was running seriously low on patience these days; she snarled as she dragged her fingers through her hair for the third time that evening, attempting to pull it into some sort of knot that would just _stay_.

"Emma." She glanced up to see Hook standing before her, a small grin on his face. He gestured to her hair with his hook. "Let me?"

She blinked, surprised. And normally she would have said no, but - there was a nervous edge to his smile, his voice was soft, and… and she didn’t want to think about why she’d let him do this, just. It was late, everyone else was asleep, they were on watch together, she was tired and. What the hell. Why not?

"Go for it," she shrugged, scooting forward off the log she was sitting on to sit cross-legged in front of it instead. She could hear Hook taking a slow, deep breath as he stepped around to sit down behind her, his legs framing her shoulders but not quite close enough to touch.

It was a moment before she felt his hand on her hair, and at first he simply touched it, stroked his hand along the curve of it and took another deep breath. Then he slid his palm up the side of her neck and slowly began to card his fingers through her hair, his touch warm and electric against her skin.

Emma swallowed, and stared into the fire, wincing when she felt a sharp tug.

"Sorry, my rings," Hook murmured, and a moment later, reached his hand over her shoulder. "Would you mind?"

Silently, she reached up and tugged his rings off, one by one. Emma held them in her hands, fiddling with them absentmindedly, as Hook went back to his task. He was a lot slower and gentler about it than she had been, carefully holding tangles in place with his hook and separating them strand by strand with clever fingers, dragging his hand through the same places again and again until his fingers didn’t catch once, fingernails gently scratching at her scalp.

It felt wonderful, soothing, relaxing, and Emma couldn’t help but think that no one had ever done this before. Sure, various men had played with her hair in the past but no one had ever done _this_ , spent long minutes just slowly, carefully _taking care of her_ , breath warm against her scalp, sending comfortable shivers down her back. Her eyes slowly dropped closed as Hook continued to brush her hair with his fingers, and she gradually relaxed back into the log, into _him_.

She didn’t realize she was leaning against his leg until she heard his breath go shaky on an exhale, felt his fingers tremble when he smoothed a strand of hair about her ear. For a moment she considered sitting back up, but his leg was warm and his hand felt so nice and she was _tired_ and there was no point in stopping now, he still hadn’t tied her hair back out of the way.

She realized she hadn’t mentioned what she wanted him to do, and so spoke up, voice low and impossibly relaxed. “Do you know how to French braid? I want to keep it back off my face, but I can’t get it to stay without a tie.”

In response, Hook started gently gathering a section of her hair together, pulling it firmly but not hard enough to yank on her head. “Aye,” he said quietly. “I’ve done this before.”

Emma’s breath caught at that - at the edge of pain in his voice, the familiar way his fingers gathered and wrapped new strands of hair into the developing braid, holding the third strand in the curve of his hook as he crossed the other two. He’d done this before.

"Milah," she breathed, stunned although she really shouldn’t be, should have realized long before now. Hook’s fingers stilled for a moment, but then resumed their careful drag through her long hair, crossing and pulling and gathering.

"Milah," he agreed in a low, aching voice. "And now you."

Emma shivered at the emotion in his words, the sound bringing back his confession in the Echo Cave, his assertion outside of the Dark Hollow, his shaky breath against her lips as he said, utterly undone, “ _That was…_ ”

"Yeah," she agreed, throat tight, knowing full well they weren’t talking about braiding hair. "And now me."

Silence fell between them after that - not awkward, but peaceful. Emma let her eyes slip closed again and relaxed even further into his touch. He took his time, dragging out the process, but eventually his fingers stilled, and settled against her neck. Emma swallowed.

"Thanks." She reached back and touched the braid; it felt tight and even, surprisingly so considering he only had one hand to work with. "I think this will hold."

He didn’t say anything, just skated his hand gently down over her shoulder, his touch feather-light, before dropping his hand. Emma pulled away from his legs almost reluctantly, standing up before turning around to face him.

"Here," she said, reaching for his hand. One by one, in the same order she had taken them off, she slid his rings back onto his fingers. When she finished with the last one, his hand twitched a little, curving slightly around hers. For the first time Emma looked up at his face - it was disarmed, completely, vulnerable and longing.

“ _Emma_ ,” he said, almost too quiet.

She pulled her hand back slowly, fingers dragging against his, and her eyes fluttered as she tried to produce a genuine smile. She felt like she was drifting into him, filled up with a fuzzy, content warmth except for the places where sparks crackled through her at his touch. His voice, the low almost-rasp of it, his eyes, his hand in her hand, his _heart_ in her hand, she wanted to sit back down and lay her head on his leg, close her eyes and just fall asleep with his fingers gently carding through her hair.

"Thank you, Hook," she said, and stepped back, walking away around the campfire. "I’m gonna wake up Mary-Margaret, it’s her watch."

When she glanced back, after waking Mary-Margaret and settling into her own pallet, he was still sitting in the exact same place, staring into the fire, thumb running over his fingers again and again.


	6. Interrogate

**Hook holding someone (a Lost Boy?) captive and trying to get information out of him and the prisoner is just not taking him seriously as a threat and then Emma walks in both he and Hook immediately panic and he spills all because Emma is just so much scarier than Hook.**

He slid his sharpened hook forward, pressing the point up under the Lost Boy’s jaw, lifting his chin. Hook leaned in close, a sinister smile on his face.

"I’ll only ask you once more, Felix," he warned darkly. "I’d advise you to recall what befell Rufio before you answer, and choose your words more wisely this time. Now, where has Pan taken Henry?"

Felix looked him in the eye - and laughed.

"You should know better than to threaten me, _Captain_ ,” he drawled. “I’ve known you far too long. You’ve gone soft, not that you were ever much of a threat in the first place.”

He leaned forward, uncaring of how the movement pressed the tip of the hook further into his neck. “Of course I remember Rufio - your _mercy kill._ In hundreds of years in Neverland, the only ones you ever succeeded in killing were your own men. Pan’s got you beaten, and as for me - well.” His lip curled smugly. “Do your worst.”

Hook sneered right back at him, ready to dig the hook in deeper - but stopped at a familiar sigh. He glanced up to see Emma standing in the entrance to the cave, arms crossed over her chest and a very dark expression on her face.

"Okay, screw this," she said, before very deliberately unsheathing her sword. "Hook, step back."

He did, as swiftly as possible.

Felix grinned, and opened his mouth to say something no doubt very smug and sarcastic, but Emma stalked right up to him and punched him in the jaw. His head jerked around, and he made a muffled sound of pain, but she didn’t even pause, grabbing him roughly by the hair and yanking him back to face her.

"Listen up, kid," she said fiercely. "I have been alone my _entire life_ , until Henry came back for me. I took care of myself ever since I was a little girl, and then I grew up and started hunting down criminals _as a living_. I’ve broken the strongest curse that has  _ever_ been cast, my magic was stronger than Cora’s, I  _killed a dragon_ the first time I ever held a sword. Do you get that? When I want something, I _make it happen_.

"And right now…" She leaned in close, pressing her sword to Felix’s neck, pressing hard enough to dent the skin. " _I want my son back_. And I’ll go through anything or _anyone_ I need to, to make that happen. Do you want me to face Pan - or should I start with you?”

She stared Felix hard in the eyes, sword ready at his throat. Hook watched her, wide-eyed and somewhat inappropriately aroused. The Lost Boy stared at her in shock, and steadily growing panic.

Emma bared her teeth in a horrible grin.

Five minutes later, the group was on their way to Skull Rock.


	7. Five Sentence Ficlets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A set of three word prompts, five sentence fics.

**Please don't stop.**

“Hey, so that whole ‘as you wish’ thing you’ve been doing…” Emma trailed off, biting her lip as she looked at Hook, trying to figure out the best way to ask him to stop without explaining _why_.

He stared right back, raising an eyebrow with a slight smile, and suddenly she found herself smiling back at him, warmth flowing through her veins, a sort of recklessness taking over. David had already heard, and he’d recognize it too, there was no _point_ in shutting Hook up now, and - and maybe she _liked_ it, a little, that little flash of lightning to her heart when he said the words, that feeling of being wanted so much, of being - and what the hell, they just _saved Henry_.

"Please, don’t stop."

* * *

**“Only for you.”**

Emma clapped her hands to her mouth, but too late; a giggle had already snuck out. Killian lifted his head slowly, expression baleful, but spread his arms wide, showing off the [Disney Captain Hook](http://www.ebay.com/itm/Pirate-Captain-Hook-Costume-Adult-Medium-New-/400592023824) costume he wore - complete, she noted with delight, with permed wig.

"I - that’s _perfect_ , that one, definitely, oh _wow_ ,” Emma managed to choke, between snickers. Henry was going to have the best birthday party ever - she’d been a little dubious about his “dress up as yourselves” theme, but _god, no longer_.

 "Only for you," he sneered, and stomped back into the changing room.

* * *

**Colour, Fervour, Crash**

Their first kiss had been a car crash; it was sudden, took them both by surprise (for all that she instigated it) as the world condensed suddenly to nothing but a blur, a swoop in Emma’s gut and the feeling that this was completely out of her control, nothing could stop it. She’d panicked, pulled back - and it _was_ the right decision at the time, she hadn’t been at all ready, not then.

She is now.

For their second kiss, Emma takes her time: she cups his face in her hands and smiles at him, just watching for a moment how his pupils dilate, black eating up the blue, how his lips part just slightly, looking bitten red already, his scruff rough under her palms, his breath shallow.

When she kisses Hook for the second time, it is no wreck - this is more like the tide going out to sea, steady and strong and inevitable, his hand in her hair, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, his heart thudding strong in time with her own; they move slowly but with twice the fervor, twice the emotion because Emma is ready for it too this time, it’s not just a kiss, it’s everything, they are breathing each other in and she doesn’t want to ever breathe out again _,_ refuses to ever let go.

* * *

**floor, knife, cuss**

With a quick twist of the blonde’s wrist the knife fell to the floor, the burly man who had, until a moment ago, been threatening her with it, crying out in pain and clutching at his hand. She kicked him away unceremoniously and snatched her drink up off the bar, retreating to a table across the room, where she sat with her back in the corner and watched the room like a wounded animal.

Killian rushed to follow, without a thought; and as such had no words prepared for when he reached her and she stared up at him, hands cupped around her tankard, eyes narrow with suspicion and so bright, hair wild around her shoulders, fierce and beautiful and he couldn’t breathe –

"You dropped this," he said awkwardly as he held up the knife, _gods he was already screwing this up_ , “when you were disposing of that fucker back th- _oh,_ sorry, that was rude of me, I - “

Something in her eyes softened, as she took the knife from him (their fingers brushed, a hot shiver went through him), and she smiled slightly, gestured for him to take a seat: “Cuss all you like, sailor, but sit down, you’re blocking my view.”

* * *

**Fire, Water, Air**

As soon as their lips touch she realizes what a mistake it was to kiss him; because she was right (he can’t handle it) but he was right too - it’s like fire in her veins, taking over, burning her up until there’s nothing left and she wants him, wants _more_ , she’s tugging him closer, completely losing her head because his touch sears deep into her, everywhere that’s been frozen for so long.

(He almost can’t believe this is real, she’s kissing him, touching him and he _knows_ , suddenly, helplessly, pulled in, oh gods he loves her.

He loves her, he loves her, he’s _drowning_ in her and never wants to come up for air.)

She can’t breathe, can’t _breathe_ and he’s still so close, just as affected if not more, she can still taste him, she can’t get the air back in her lungs, she feels desperate and overwhelmed, giddy and - _terrified_ , this was a horrible decision, she needs to get away, needs to -

(Even if she hadn’t told him to wait five minutes, he couldn’t have followed - he’s shell-shocked, slammed back down to earth so hard he’s left a crater, but still _,_ still, she left but she’s beginning to see him for who he really is, gods he can’t believe she _kissed him_ \- and his stone heart begins to beat again for the first time in centuries.)

* * *

**Jealous, kiss, eyebrow**

He arched a brow teasingly, leaning in, and just before their lips touched, the other one went up a bit as well, did this little _almost-waggle_ , and that was it, that was just –

"Okay, _seriously_ , I am so jealous, how do you _do_ that?”

Killian frowned down at Emma, obviously confused - but then as he realized, as he sighed and rolled his eyes and muttered, “bloody hell, I’ve _told you_ I can’t help it,” _there they went again_ , up high to emphasize his annoyance, then back down, the left lower than the right and a little furrowed and so perfectly, _infuriatingly_ expressive.

"It’s so not fair, if I could do that I’d appreciate it properly," Emma muttered, distantly aware that she was pouting but not really caring until Killian leaned down and kissed her, nipping at her bottom lip.

"I’d really much rather you appreciate _me_ right now, love.”


	8. One Year Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the winter finale!

**Emma's face when she opens the door: "shit he's hot and I'm in my pyjamas."**

 

Her first thought is, _shit he’s hot_.

Her second thought, with a mortified edge: _-and I’m in my pyjamas_.

"Swan," and then he _smiles_ like everything in his world has fallen into place, and all further thoughts rush out of her head.

It takes Emma several seconds to realize that her mouth has actually fallen open, that she’s just staring blankly at this man on the other side of her door, like a complete fool (but it’s not her fault god those eyes and that tousled hair and the skin peeking out of his very open shirt and that goddamn grin how is he even _legal_ ). Only when he starts walking towards her, with the clear intent of just waltzing right into her home as if he belongs there, does her brain catch up to her hormones, and she jerks out a hand to hold him back.

(“At last,” he’s saying, what the hell, the way he’s looking at her is making it hard to breathe.)

She does _not_ know him, Emma’s sure of that. She would never forget a face like his, let alone the all-leather getup that it’s really taken her shamefully long to notice. She has never met this man before in her life - and yet, something about him is so _familiar_ , something about him is making her heart beat faster, her throat dry up.

And the joy on his face - that was genuine. Even as goes on to talk in a low, urgent voice (just this side of breathless, and that accent, good _god_ ) about needing her help, about “something terrible” and “your family” and Emma _knows_ he must be lying because she has all her family right here and tells him as much - even so, he’s not lying. He’s telling the truth, or at least he believes he is, but it’s odd. Her lie-detector… no, it’s more than that, it’s like every single part of Emma is _humming_ with the truth of his words, like her body wants more than anything for her to believe every word he says and trust him and let him in…

Into the same room as Henry. No thanks.

"An old friend," he calls himself, and Emma would be suspicious about the lack of a name if she weren’t growing more and more suspicious of _all of this_ by the second. Forget her superpower, it’s clearly faulty, this guy does not seem stable.

"I know you can’t remember me, but," and he pauses, he’s shifting nervously in front of her, and every part of Emma is screaming at her to _listen_ to him, to _believe_ him though she has no clue why. He’s utterly gorgeous, but that shouldn’t be enough to keep her standing here staring dumbly, not when he’s suddenly swooping forward with the promise that, “I can make you.”

(It should sound threatening, particularly combined with the sudden assault that follows it. Instead, he only sounds hopeful, desperate, wrecked somehow in a way that _tugs_ at her somewhere much too deep.)

For half a second, Emma actually sinks into the kiss. His hand curves around the back of her head and yanks her forward too fast to resist, but he isn’t rough. On the contrary, his lips are surprisingly gentle against her own, just very… _intense_ is probably the world. She can feel his hand curving into her hair like he never wants to let go (though there’s no force behind the movement), his lips pressed into her own at just the right angle, and something about this, about the heat of his body against her own, the rough pads of his fingers against her scalp, the hot sear of his lips to hers, something about all of this feels _familiar_ , and _right_ , and Emma wants nothing more than to reach up and hold his head still while she presses back into him just as hard.

That lasts half a second, one flutter of her eyelashes.

Then Emma’s reacting instinctively, kneeing him where it hurts and shoving him hard across the hall. She can’t breathe, for a moment she can’t -

"What the hell are you doing?" she gasps, and of course, of course he’s insane, he’s a pervert, he’s some crazy leather fetishist molester who _knows her name_ and was looking at her like she hung every star in the sky and the moon for good measure, who was utterly in earnest as he swore that her family was in danger, whose kiss felt like the last puzzle piece she’d never known she was missing, who the hell _is_ this guy?

"A long shot," he grunts, "I had to try. I was hoping you felt as I did."

(The thing is, she’s pretty sure she _did_. For a moment there, just one brilliant moment, everything else ceased to matter but the feel of his lips on hers.)

(Emma’s kind of terrified right now.)

"All you’re gonna feel is the handcuffs when I call the cops," she snaps, still leaning against the door, feeling desperate to get away, this man is _dangerous_ , every single inch of her is screaming to kiss him again.

"Look, I know this seems crazy," he says, coming closer again. His face is still pained but it’s not as much from her kneeing him anymore; he looks kind of _hurt_ , emotionally, and desperate, like he’s scared of something, of - of her slamming the door in his face which is _exactly_ what she is going to do. “But you have to listen to me,” he’s almost shouting now, as Emma swings the door shut, “you have to remem-“

The door cuts him off and Emma spins away, breathing hard as she walks back down the hall towards Henry. Her heart is pounding, she can’t seem to think straight, she feels jittery and all wrong, like she should be turning around and opening that door, like she should be listening to every word out of his mouth - his _mouth_ , god, she should be fisting her hands in the humongous lapels of his coat and _yanking_ that mouth forwards to meet her own.

(He’d be stunned, awed, he’d fall into her like she was all that mattered, his hand could come up to grip her hair, so gently, like he didn’t even believe this was real, he’d be breathing hard, kissing with all that he had, utterly lost in her and she’d regret ever taking him up on the challenge, he’d breathe, “That was…” and she’d run scared because if she stayed with her forehead pressed to his, breathing in his air, swaying into him, if she stayed a moment longer she’d never leave -)

…What the hell?

"Who was that?" Henry asks, and Emma has to swallow back a panicked breath before answering him.

"No idea," she says, trying to slow her breathing, her heart, to calm her body as it thrums wildly for his touch, her heart aching to just go back and listen to him again - but he was _crazy_ , he was ridiculously hot and that was why she feels like this, and if she’d been younger Emma might have actually let him into her apartment if only to sleep with him and kick him out later, but she has Henry now, she can’t let him anywhere near her ever again, she won’t let it happen, she _won’t_. “Someone must have left the door open downstairs.”

(Her tongue flicks out over her lips. The taste is warm, familiar with an edge of salt and she thinks of sails, spinning a ship’s wheel in a storm.)


	9. Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another winter finale final scene fic, this time from Killian's perspective. The original prompt asked for something a little sillier, but I pretty much failed on that front - this is more emotional.

**Killian getting nervous before knocking on Emma's door.**

He's already charmed his way into the building and is halfway up the stairs when it hits him: this is it. In a few moments, he's going to see Emma again. His steps slow as he continues up to the third floor and turns down the hallway towards her apartment; suddenly his limbs feel leaden, heavy with fear.

Killian has spent a year dreaming of this moment, _fighting_ for this moment. He's never been an optimist, and yet in the past year there have been so many times when he seems to have been the only one holding out hope that Emma would ever return. David was his only (unexpected) ally; he too retained faith that Emma would be united with her family once again, even when Regina insisted the curse's cost was irreversible, even when Snow whispered that this might be her happy ending.

Killian refused to believe that.

Perhaps it was foolish sentiment - in fact, there was no _perhaps_ about it, he knew he was letting his heart rule his head, knew he was clinging to unrealistic hopes. But this was _Emma Swan_ , if there was one person he’d always have faith in it was her, if there was one person he’d always fight his way back to – she’d welcomed him, at the end, she’d said “good.” And Killian had _always_ been ruled by his heart, that wasn’t anything new, and Emma never failed, and she might be happy now with her boy but it was a false happiness, she’d want reality, she’d want her family, she’d want him, _she wanted him_.

The days had passed in a daze of yearning. After over three hundred years of living, less than four hundred days shouldn’t matter so much, but they did. He could taste Emma on every breath, saw her every time he closed his eyes, heard her voice endlessly in his dreams, quiet and so lost, so scared but _hopeful_ , pleased despite herself, she _welcomed_ him loving her, she wanted him: “Good.”

Forget days – not an hour went by without her in his thoughts; he replayed their every moment together, imagined thousands more. _Knew_ there would be thousands more to come, he’d find her, it didn’t matter how long it took, he’d find a way back to her because she’d said “good”, she _wanted him too_ , she –

(he did not dare even think the word, but it thrummed hopefully in his chest, inexplicably growing surer the more time passed)

(this was no mere dalliance for her either, she’d known exactly what she was doing when she said “good”, this was _it_ , gods it had to be, the truest of the True)

Yet here he stands, _finally_ , and he’s too bloody terrified to knock on her door.

He has no idea what he’s so scared of – that she won’t remember him? He knows that already, he’s come prepared. That she won’t be here? He already knows she will. He’s _here_ , he’s here finally, he’s ached for this moment for a year straight but now that it’s here he’s frozen. Emma is literally right in front of him but Killian can’t make himself move an inch and he has _no idea why_ –

(that’s a lie, he knows the reason, he knows exactly why, he’s afraid he won’t be able to make her remember, that he’s been wrong all along, and it’s utter idiocy because he has the potion with her parent’s hairs, bottled True Love, the strongest magic of all, there should be no reason for doubt)

(but what if it doesn’t have to be bottled?)

He swallows hard, trying to make himself breathe – and then he hears it, the slightest muffled sound from beyond the door in front of him. It’s not her voice; it’s music, nothing he’s heard before, but that doesn’t matter. It’s proof that she’s _there_ , she’s alive and awake and listening to a song, she’s mere feet away she’s here he’s found her, Emma, _Emma_.

He doesn’t realize he’s pounding on the door until he drops his hand. There’s no answer, and he can feel a shudder work through him, and turns away from the door to pace across the hall. Sudden doubts assail him once more: perhaps his information is wrong. This might not even be Emma’s home, what if the potion doesn’t work, what if he fails _what if he doesn’t_ and he’s knocking again, slamming his closed fist into the door so hard the door is shaking, his knuckles must be bruising.

He doesn’t care.

Moments later, the music cuts off. Killian drops his hand, shuffles ever closer, holds his breath as the door swings open…

_Gods she’s beautiful_.

Emma Swan stands before him, a slightly confused expression on her face. She’s wearing a loose patterned outfit, her hair is tousled about her shoulders, she looks like she’s just risen from her bed, _gods_ , she’s close enough to touch. He’s really done it, it took a year but he’s finally _found her_ , he’s been drowning for so long but just the sight of her and the air tastes so, so sweet, all his doubts are gone the instant he meets her eyes.

(he can do this, he can make her remember, she _wants_ to remember, she wants him, she doesn’t even know who he is and yet she’s letting him step closer, doesn’t resist when he pulls her in, even without her memories she _wants this too_ and as their lips touch he lets himself think it, for the first time he thinks this will work because he loves her and _she loves him too_ , this is True Love it can break any curse _it’s going to work_ )

(-it doesn’t work.)

But she’s still so beautiful, so fierce and strong and despite the pain curling him round his middle, his heart beating itself bloody against his ribs, _it didn’t work it didn’t work_ , still he can’t stop. There’s not even the question of stopping, not even when she slams the door in his face and he slumps to the floor, staring blankly after her.

Because this is _Emma Swan_ , this brilliant broken woman, and he loves her too much. Finding out that he’s been wrong all this time doesn’t change that, no matter how it aches in his throat – he just let his hopes get too high. She still said “good”, she still welcomed his affections… she still deserves to be freed from this lie of a life. Even if her family’s safety weren’t depending on this, Killian would still do anything to bring Emma back, no matter if she loves him or not, because that’s what she would _want_. An orphan like Emma will always prefer a painful truth to blissful lie; he’s known that since she tied him to a tree and set an ogre on him, since she looked at her mother with such broken grateful eyes, since she bested him and stole his heart as a trophy before he ever realized.

Bloody hell, he never expected this to be easy. If she doesn’t – if his hopes were unfounded, well, at least he’s never spoken of them to anyone. Nothing has changed… nothing but for the terrible first impression he’s made; gaining her trust will be much more difficult now. But he’ll do it. He’ll win her trust and then her heart, he can’t ever give up – this is just another challenge, that’s all.

And Killian has always loved a challenge.


	10. Chapter 10

I combined two prompts for this one. The first 100 words, or three paragraphs, were a drabble written for the prompt: **Memory-Loss!Emma discovers that Hook is missing a hand.** Everything after this point was a continuation written for the prompt: **"what the... (whisper) hell?"**

* * *

"Please, just drink it, you have to trust me," he's begging, shoving the bottle at her, _desperate_ and why does she _want to_ , god she can't think–

Emma smacks his hand away so hard the bottle goes flying. His face pales dramatically, and he juggles for it, just barely catching it in the crook of his right elbow. His left hand is pressed flat over it, stiff and awkward; the edge of his glove slips to reveal solid brown underneath and suddenly Emma can't breathe, her chest is aching it's _too familiar–_

"Your hand's fake," she says, small and lost.

She can't stop staring at it, even after he fumbles the bottle back into an inner pocket with a sigh of relief. He looks nervous, licking his lips slightly, before gripping his left wrist and _twisting_ and – lifting it free.

"Aye. It's fake."

Emma's heart is rabbiting and she doesn't know why, she's seen amputees before but she's never felt this need to _stare_ at the stump, the empty space where _something_ should be latching in, her throat is closing up she wants to reach out, to curl her fingers around it and push up his sleeve and kiss the scar so gently he won't be able to think and _what the fuck_.

"What the… hell," she whispers, and then swallows hard, scoffs. "You expect me to trust you, when I don't know a thing about you? Not even this!"

"You know me, Swan," he insists. "You know me better than anyone – as I know you."

"I don't even know your _name_ ," she snaps, and crosses her arms, raking her gaze over his leather costume with as much scorn as she can drum up (ignoring the flush of heat all through her, the tingle of _want_ , the whisper in her brain that he's right, that his soul his life his _heart_ matches her own in every way that could matter, they are open books to each other and always will be). "Let me guess: Captain Hook?"

"I– _Emma_ ," he gasps, jaw dropping, blue eyes flaring bright with such crazy _hope_ for an instant and she can't breathe. She can't ever breathe around him, why won't he leave her _alone_?

(Why would she miss him if he did?)

Emma rolls her eyes hard, shoulders pulling in tight. "Come back when you've got better material."

With a quiet snort, she spins on her heel and turns back the way she came. Fuck it, she'll get groceries later. She doesn't need to deal with this. It's better to just go home and wait him out; he'll leave eventually. She isn't _running scared_ , she's just –

"Killian Jones," he says softly behind her, and she pauses. His voice is weary, rough and his breath clicks in his throat as he hoarsely continues: "that's my name."

Emma swallows hard. Everything seems to have stopped, everything is – it's thumping, she can actually hear the blood rushing in her ears, the air burns in her throat, he's standing right behind her and she _knows_. If she turns around, he'll be watching her, waiting for her, _aching_ for her, he'll be right there and if she turns around, if she turns around she's going to say his name, she's going to cup his cheek in her hand, she's going to say his name again and again she's going to kiss him she's going to let him get his hands on her heart and whisper _please believe me_ to it, he's going to rip her to pieces, she doesn't remember him or trust him or know him at all but if she turns around he's going to ask her to drink his potion and she's going to look him in the eye and do it even though she has no reason whatsoever to do so, if she turns around _if she turns around–_

She walks away, steady even steps. He doesn't follow.

(–she's running terrified.)


	11. Bippity Boppity

**Hook & Emma being godparents to new baby Snowing.**

 

"But… but I’ll be her," Emma hesitated, eyes darting frantically about the room, " _sister_. Isn’t that, I don’t know, breaking the rules or something?”

Snow just smiled at her and shook her head. “Emma, sweetie, none of this is _normal_ \- usually big sisters aren’t the same age as the parents. Usually nephews are _younger_ than their aunts. We don’t care.”

Emma gulped, feeling, as always, a little terrified at the mere idea of being a sister, of _having_ a sister. There was some part of her that had always felt she was being replaced by the baby, and as ridiculous as sibling envy was in these circumstances… well, there it was.

Snow must have noticed her tension - not that it was hard, Emma was practically vibrating with discomfort - because her smile dropped slowly, and she let a hand fall to her swollen stomach, smoothing across it in gentle circles.

"I don’t want to pressure you," she said quietly. "I know you… We’ve just talked it over and there’s no one else we’d want to be Eva’s godmother but you."

And it was something about the little hitch to her mother’s voice, or maybe way she looked down so resignedly, or maybe even the realization that in asking Emma to be godmother Snow was asking her to be a _part_ of the family, even after the baby. And she’d always known logically that Snow didn’t want to get rid of her, but this was different, this was entrusting the baby herself ( _the second chance,_ _the do-over_ she always tried so hard not to think) to Emma, thinking Emma was worthy of a role as confidant and guide and support, that _no one else_ would do but Emma.

Before she realized it, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Snow blinked - then her face just absolutely _lit up_ , and she stepped forward to pull Emma into a huge hug, whispered words of thanks and joy in her ear, love and “now she has the perfect godparents”, and Emma pulled back with a slight frown.

"Godparents?" she asked. "Plural? I thought you said -"

"Well, she needs a god _father_ too,” Snow shrugged, and pointed down the length of the long hallway. “I think it’s going well.”

Hook and David were beaming at each other, too far away to be heard but clearly talking over one another. Hook reached out his hand for a shake, but David bypassed it entirely to pull him in and slap him on the back, and after an awkward moment the pirate returned the hug. The embrace lasted nearly a good minute, with the occasional strong thump to the other’s back, until Hook glanced up and met Emma’s eyes across the distance.

He instantly jerked back, shoving David gently away. The prince only scowled slightly, lightheartedly, and shoved him back. Hook shook his shoulders dismissively, but only took a few steps closer down the hall before nonchalantly elbowing David, who crumpled over his stomach before forcing himself to stand up straight, glaring at his friend.

The shoving match proceeded up the entire length of the hallway, and halfway down both men were laughing again, and Emma couldn’t help but smile watching them. All her initial disappointment upon hearing the word ‘godparents’ faded away, to be replaced by a low, warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Me and Hook, huh," Emma muttered, then snorted when Charming’s attempt to trip Hook only ended with him stumbling over his own feet as Hook lightly danced past him to press a kiss to Emma’s cheek.

"Marvelous news, love," he murmured in her ear, arm curving round her back to pull her closer against him, until he was nuzzling the next words into her hair: "I’m to be a godfather."

She smiled at the shaky, honored edge to his words, the warm feeling inside her only growing and growing; pressed her grin into the leather of his jacket and heard Snow’s voice behind her, low and content.

"Yes, _perfect_.”


	12. Hades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not really fic but I'm posting it on here anyway because that's the closest description. I received the following message, and this chapter was my response.

**And YOU KNOW they're gonna be cruel and have the last scene be right after the Emma/Hook TLK. The curse breaks, the shimmer running through the town, and Emma and Hook gaze at each other with wonder and love... AND THEN BAM! Freaking Hades (who's made a pact with Pan/WW in the Underworld to come back and KILL THEM ALL) appears in the heavens and all CS can do is hold each other in fear as the SCREEN TURNS BLACK...**

 

Scene opens with Emma, stepping into Hook’s hospital room and shutting the door behind her, leaning back up against it. She’s just spoken to Regina, and she knows there is only one way to break this curse - this curse he willingly went under, to protect her.

She walks over to the bed, and looks down at him. He’s lying on top of the blankets, fully dressed - there’s nothing medically wrong with him after all, nothing anyone can do… except maybe Emma. And she’s battling with all her fears - what if this doesn’t work, _he_ tried it so if it fails it will be because of her, she’ll lose him forever and it will be all her own fault… what if it _does_ work, then everyone’s going to know what it means, _he'll know_ and so will she, even after everything if this works it’s going to up the stakes so high that she will be completely _shattered_ if she ever loses him –

-but isn’t she shattering already? The fact that it’s even occurred to her to try means she has to do it. It’s only been a few hours and already she can’t handle it, she can’t even care about the consequences, she can’t let him stay like this. She _needs him back_ , so she sits down on the side of the bed, presses her lips together hard, eyes burning like she’s about cry (she’s trying not to cry).

She reaches out and cups his cheek.

"I love you," she says, voice wobbling, then takes a deep, deep breath… and kisses him.

She can _feel_ when it works, the magic shooting out of her, out of _them_ , and pulls back just in time to watch as he gives a little gasp, his eyes popping open and meeting hers. She feels so unsteady, so ridiculously happy and relieved and blinks hard, her smile trembling upon her lips.

"Emma," Hook breathes, and she can see the exact moment he realizes what this means. His face lights up, his grin just _takes over_ , in the most awed, lovestruck voice he says, “you saved me.”

"Does that surprise you?" she laughs and then suddenly he’s sitting up, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close and just hugging her tight without a word and she hugs back, choking a little deep in her throat, squeezes her fingers deep into his leather coat and just breathes him in, he’s okay, he’s all right, she saved him, she saved him with True Love’s Kiss, they are in love and safe and he’s _here_ and it’s all okay, some of the tears escape but she doesn’t care, she’s in love, she doesn’t ever want to let go.

Something crashes loudly outside the door. They both jerk back, just in time to hear the screaming, the cries for help. And Emma wants to be angry, but somehow she isn’t even surprised - the Savior never catches a break, after all.

She jumps to her feet; Hook follows, reaching for his sword, stepping after her without any hesitation (and even that sends a warm flush through her, because no matter what happens he’s always standing at her side, nothing’s going to drive him away - for the first time ever she finds herself truly believing: Hook is her True Love and no matter what happens True Love always conquers in the end). When she meets his eyes as she puts her hand on the door, other hand hovering over her holster, she can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

She flings the door open and they step out together into the waiting room. There’s a wild energy in the air, a powerful wind carrying the heavy feel of the darkest of magic. Pandora’s box is sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, and there’s a dark swirling spreading out from it, like a magic bean but _black_ , and it’s swirling wider and wider, opening up like a pit, the wind is screaming, the room is shaking, and something is _climbing out of the hole_.

It’s a man, handsome and dignified in a long dark suit, and something about him sucks the very air out of the room. He brushes himself off casually, as the portal snaps shut beneath his feet, and he picks up the box before straightening slowly, ignoring the other nurses and patients still panicking and trying to run away.

His eyes meet Emma’s, and he smiles, tossing the box up and down in his hand. “It feels so _good_ to finally be free. Time to wrap up all that… unfinished business.”

SCREEN GOES BLACK. ENJOY SIX MONTHS OF WAITING.


	13. Dreams

**Emma dreams** \+ **the worst is having a dream where someone loves you and you can practically feel them touching you and it feels so real and then you wake up and it's like the life is being sucked out of you and the happiness just drains out of your body and you feel empty again** (the former being the prompt, the latter a text post I took inspiration from on Tumblr)

 

She doesn't know who he is. In fact, in the dreams Emma's not entirely sure who _she_ is, because she doesn't feel like the same person. She's still Emma Swan but she feels different, she feels like she grew up different, somehow, she feels happy and _home_ and there are people hovering in her head. They don't even appear in the dream, they're like memories of shadows but she knows that dream-Emma has a family. Dream-Emma has parents to hug her tight and love her, she's got Henry of course, and so many other people as well - it's hard to figure out who they are to her but somehow Emma knows she _has them_ , even if they aren't with her in the dream.

In the dream, she is on a ship.

It's an old thing, all wood and rigging, makes her think of pirates.  Or maybe that's because of the man dressed like one - he's always there, always, and in the dream he is in love with her.

And perhaps it's because in reality Emma is just so _lonely_ , or maybe it's just the magic of dreams, but she never questions it, has no doubts or fears or - anything else, she lets him love her, lets her heart fill with the feeling of it. The warmth of his hand around hers, his devilish grin, the sky a bright blue and the ocean bluer, wind in their faces and his deep laugh. He rests his forehead on hers and kisses her, hand coming to grasp at her hair, kisses her deep and desperate like she's all that will ever matter, mutters her name and tugs her closer. He shivers when she touches him, she can _see_ him aching for her in every moment, and his grip is always either too tentative or too tight. Sometimes they do really crazy lighthearted things, like sword-fighting or climbing the rigging or sailing the ship or diving off the side and racing through the water laughing like idiots. Sometimes it's night, and they just watch the stars together; she'll rest her head on his shoulder and his breath will catch and Emma will feel more loved than she ever has.

(Once, it's storming, the whole ship rocking with the waves. Emma and the man are inside the captain's quarters when the dream begins - she's already half-naked and he's slowly kissing up her torso, taking his time about it to drive her mad until she finally digs her fingers into his hair and drags him up to kiss her properly. After that it's frenzied, desperate like there will never be another chance, he's moaning and she's gasping, they kiss and miss and writhe together on the narrow bed, and it's frantic but the best she's ever had until _just_ when she can't take it anymore he says, "Please Emma, I've never seen you fail," in such a _broken_ little voice-)

It's odd really, because Emma doesn't even remember what he looks or sounds like when she wakes up, but she's been dreaming about this man for almost a year now. And it ought to be weird - is, really - but in every single dream she feels so warm and loved. He never once says the word but she feels it in every moment, just _knows_ with that surety of dreams: he's in love with her, the kind of love that is deep and true and never gives up, the kind that people tell stories about, the kind that she's never _had_ before because it only exists in fairy tales. But she can  _almost_ taste him when she wakes, almost feel his touch burning against her skin, almost almost remember what he looks like and sometimes she thinks she can remember how he sounds when he says her name.

It _breaks_ her. It's just a dream but she _wants_ it, it feels much too right and much too real, and every single time it hurts so much to wake up in an empty bed. It's like a physical pain in her chest because he's _gone_ , because he was never even _real_ and that means all that love she felt was just a figment of her own imagination. She'll wake up sprawled across the bed and at first she won't realize, she'll smile and reach out for him - and then the truth hits hard every single time. She can't breathe, she curls up slowly into her pillow and bites her lip and tries not to feel so  _alone_ , to tell herself she's got Henry who is _real_ , she doesn't need all those shadow-people in her head, absolutely doesn't need that pirate kissing her neck, whispering about forever.

Even when it does work, it only lasts until she falls asleep again.


	14. Payment In Kind

**Emma catches Hook staring at her ass while in Neverland. Instead of being angry she flirts.**

 

"Ladies first," Hook said charmingly, holding back a branch with his hook and gesturing at the path he’d created with his free hand.

"Uh huh, I don’t think so," Emma said, crossing her arms. When he affected a look of innocent confusion, she snorted. "You haven’t exactly been discreet with all your _seeing of the sights_ , you know.”

For a moment, Hook looked almost embarrassed, but he rallied quickly with a friendly leer: “Well, I’m a fan of nature. How can I not appreciate such lovely… _scenery_ when it’s right in front of my eyes?”

"Easily enough," Emma smirked, and stepped forward to take the branch from Hook, just as the rest of the group caught up to them. "Pirates first."

He gave in with a grin, and took the lead once more, guiding them through the jungle with strong, sure steps - only to stumble when, not five minutes later, he heard Emma commenting to Snow, “Honestly, I think the only good thing about this place is the view.”

Glancing back, he saw her gaze snapping up from lower down on his torso.  She met his eyes with a wicked grin, and waved him on. He cleared his throat and turned back to the path, suddenly quite warm, and doubly glad that he’d not worn his long leather coat today.

(When they set up camp that night, Emma bent over directly in front of Hook to arrange the logs for the fire - a process which took about five minutes, the pirate attempting gamely to maintain his side of a conversation with David all the while.)

(He retaliated by positively _lounging_ next to it once it was lit, bending one knee in his tight leather pants, a third of his shirt’s buttons undone, and using a low, teasing voice to invite Emma to come sit next to him. He promised her “a taste of nature’s bounty”, tossing a coconut up and down in his hand, smirking like the devil.)


	15. Hope

**The first thing that pops into your head when you think about Captain Swan.**

 

A lot has changed about Mary Margaret after she… well, after she stopped being Mary Margaret. Emma loves her mother, but she really misses her best friend most of the time - but there is one thing that hasn’t changed in the least.

"You deserve a happy ending, Emma," she’d said earnestly, "and happy endings start with _hope_.”

And sure, Snow was completely off-base in thinking that Emma was hoping for Neal to be alive then, just the opposite in fact, but the words remind her of Mary Margaret and so they’ve stuck with her. At this point, she’d honestly rather forget about them, but she can’t. Her mind keeps circling back in the dead of night, _happy endings start with hope_.

That hasn’t been a good word for Emma. It’s never ended well, not once in her life - for years she _hoped_ the Swans would come back for her; she _hoped_ that she and Neal could find a home in Tallahassee; _hoped_ giving Henry away would ensure he was always happy and loved; for three years she desperately, pitifully clung to the _hope_ that Neal would meet her in Tallahassee.

After that, Emma learned to stop hoping.

But, like so many other things since coming to Storybrooke, Emma’s learned closing herself off from hope doesn’t make anything better in the end - it just makes it empty.

( _But Emma, that wall of yours - it may keep out pain. But it also may keep out love._ )

So she’s been trying. Bit by bit, moment by moment, _trying_ to cling to hope and not let go. She’s felt like she _can’t_ let go, not when Graham died hoping so hard (she hoped it wasn’t real, hoped she’d wake up and it had all been a dream, hoped she could ever forget him and knew she wouldn’t). Emma hopes that she’ll be able to work things out with Regina some day, for Henry’s sake. She hopes that maybe, some day she’ll be able to stop resenting Snow for what she isn’t, and love her fully for what she  _is_ , give her the greatest gift of simply calling her ‘Mom’.

Most of all, she hopes that she will let herself love again. That someone will find it in themselves to love _her_ , hopes as hard as she can despite all the evidence that’s stacked up her entire life that it won’t happen - hopes for a happy ending of her own.

And then, inevitably, her thoughts turn to Hook. (Secretly, she’s been thinking of him all along.)

Because Emma can’t count the number of times he’s said the word _hope_ to her. Before they climbed the beanstalk he’d said he was hoping it would be her go with him. When he was comparing her to that shriveled bean, he’d called it “full of hope”, he’d said that he _hoped their kiss meant something_.

In New York, he’d tried True Love’s Kiss on her, and just said he hoped she felt the same. They haven’t ever talked about it but every time she closes her eyes she can hear his voice, hoarse and in pain but so earnest, telling nothing but the truth. That had confused her at the time, she’d thought he was just delusional, but now she _knows_ , that he was saying he loved her. That he was saying he hoped she loved him too.

And - it’s not like it’s a _surprise_ anymore, Hook hasn’t attempted to hide his feelings since pretty much they first set foot on Neverland, but something about the way he said “I was hoping” won’t leave Emma alone, breaks her heart a little and echoes endlessly in her head. He’d just been proven wrong - after a _year_ spent trying to find a way back to her, he’d received the ultimate proof that Emma did not love him (so far as either of them knew at the time, anyway). And he’d said _I was hoping_ , like he’d already learned better - but that’s the thing. He _hasn’t._ He never does. No matter how many times Emma pushes him away or closes off or circumstances force them apart, he always just keeps coming back, standing in front of her with everything on the line and telling her _I was hoping._

And the thing is, Emma _knows_ exactly how painful is to hope. She’s lived that for most of her life, she knows how it destroys you a little more each time, and she knows better than to give false hope to anyone - but she can’t help herself anymore, she keeps giving in little by little, she keeps letting him hope for - for _everything_ , because Hook’s not hoping halfway, he’s hoping for all of Emma, for the rest of their lives, he’s hoping for True Love’s Kiss, he’s hoping for a _happy ending_.

And the worst part is, she wants to hope for that too. Around him, Emma can’t help but want to hope. She can’t yet - not on the same scale. She can’t handle anything that huge. But… he makes her hope that one day she’ll be _able_ to hope for that, makes her hope that maybe she can let him love her and he won’t leave - that’s already too much hope to handle, it sears her heart with possibilities. She lies awake at night wanting to believe, Snow and Mary Margaret both whispering inside her head, driving her _mad_ with everything she’s terrified to know until finally she can’t take it anymore.

Because if there’s one thing Emma Swan knows about hope? It’s that hoping gets you jack-shit. You can’t just sit around _hoping_ \- you have to make things change for yourself. You have to _fight_. That’s what Hook has been doing for so long now, and suddenly it seems so obvious, what Emma should do next.

So the next time they kiss, she does.

It’s not the right timing - a storm descending, Wickedness crackling in the air - but then, it never is. Hook hasn’t let that ever stop him, and Emma can’t either, not if she wants this (she can’t breathe for wanting this some nights).

So she kisses him, hard and fierce and _not a goodbye_ , presses her forehead hard against his and clings to his lapels, closes her eyes and remembers their first kiss. How _good_ it felt. How good she always wants to feel. Emma holds on tight and remembers walls and hope and happy endings, clings to Hook and thinks _this is stupid, I’m sure everyone knows by now anyway_ but that’s not the point, it was never the point.

"I _love_ you,” she whispers, almost accusingly, and hopes it will last


	16. Five Sentence Ficlets II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another installation of five sentence ficlets, though not all the prompts are just three words this time around. Also I kinda cheated and used six sentences a couple times.

**"You're an idiot."**

"I say this with the utmost fondness, Swan," Hook sighed, staring sadly down at the mess of rope in her hands: "You're an idiot."

She glared at him and dropped the failure of a knot on the table between them. "Oh, shut up, some of us haven't spent our whole life on a boat."

"I could do better than that when I was _twelve_ ," Hook said mournfully, gingerly picking up the abomination with his attachment, steadily shaking his head the whole while. "No - six."

"It's not _that_ bad," Emma protested weakly - only to fall silent and blush when Hook met her eyes, raised an eyebrow, and with a single deliberate pluck at a loop of rope, sent all her hard work unraveling between them.

* * *

**Emma smiling at Killian like the way she smiled at Graham before they kissed.**

The potion was cool and smooth, slipping down Emma's throat almost before she swallowed, leaving a slick feeling in her mouth and, and a growing buzzing, shivering sensation spreading all through her, memories pouring back into place like expensive wine into a glass - graceful, intoxicating, terrifying.

She swallowed again, and slowly lifted her head, and - _he_ was there, staring at her anxiously, the crazy leather fetishist perverted delusional stalker who she nonetheless knew somehow she could trust with her life (her heart), there he was, staring at her, not breathing at all and for a moment she had no idea why - oh but she _did, oh_.

She was hugging him before any conscious thought passed through her mind, clinging close and after a moment he melted into her, arms coming to wrap gently around her, cheek pressed against her hair; she was squeezing him so tightly her arms hurt, digging in as close as possible and it reminded her crazily of their kiss (a year ago, a year, how did he ever manage it?) and he was warm and so longing and he'd _made it_ , she didn't know how but it didn't matter, he was _here_.

"Hook," Emma grinned, pulling back and letting another laugh burble out of her lips at her sheer _joy_. She felt hopeful again, loved and no longer lost, and a little broken (tears at the corner of her eyes because it had been _a year_ ) but just so _happy_ to see him again, and - god, he was grinning back, slowly but with such obvious surprise and pure delight and she wanted to kiss him, thank him, tell him how much she'd missed him without ever knowing and then kiss him again, but instead she laughed a little wonderingly: "You found me."

* * *

**He didn't laugh.**

Honestly, she'd been expecting at least a chuckle, if not full-on mockery. It was just so… _cheesy_ , it sounded like something her parents would say - and it was so possessive, too, so presumptuous, like she was actually claiming _ownership_ over him - she wouldn't have blamed him at all if he'd laughed, or even been offended.

Instead, Hook's gaze went dark with intent and a slow smile curved his lips. He reached out and cupped her cheek gently, drawing her closer until he could bend down to - to rub his face against hers like a _cat_ or something, his scruff slowly scratching against her cheek and her heart beating much too fast.

"Aye, that's me," he breathed against her skin, voice soft and warm and loving, and almost innocent but for the way his fingers were slowly dragging under her top, his open mouth brushing wetly against the edge of her jaw, "your pirate - and you're my Swan."

* * *

**Hold me, please.**

"You don't want - " Emma started, but cut off quickly, chewing on her lip and staring down at him.

Hook just grinned up at her, mouth red with blood, one eye almost entirely swollen shut, and shook his head - rolled it, rather, back and forth in a slow, only partially-controlled motion that was at least half wincing from pain.

"I'm afraid, Swan, that there are some circumstances where… even I'm -" he broke into a fit of coughing, and there was more blood, and he was making these awful _gasping_ sounds, and before she knew it Emma was dropping down next to him, pulling him into her arms and even rocking back and forth a little like that could soothe anything, stroking her fingers through the sweat and dirt and blood in his hair, gripping a little tighter when he finally began to breathe again and of course to speak: "…not up for more than a cuddle."

"Shut up," Emma hissed, hating him for the way he was relaxing into her touch, murmuring appreciative little noises whenever her fingers brushed across his skin, apparently entirely unconcerned by his _very real_ need for a doctor - "Just lay still, okay, I'm gonna go find somebody -"

"Don't," he said, and his fingers caught hers, lifted them to his lips for a bloody kiss - "please, love, just-" and his words were slurring and his fingers were trembling, and _she_ was trembling, curling in closer around him, whispering _okay, okay I won't leave, okay Hook, shh, it's okay,_ and he shuddered out a slow relieved breath, and they stayed like that for a long, long time.

* * *

**Sword fight.**

"Was this _really_ necessary, Hook?" Emma asks, injecting as much sarcasm into the words as possible; she gestures grumpily at the edge of the training grounds where a small crowd of people have very obviously gathered to watch them fight.

He just smirks wider, as if it weren't obviously his fault they're all here (of course it is, she'd made sure no one else was around when she'd issued the challenge this time), and kind of - slides his sword against hers as he leans in close, pressing just hard enough that the metal of the blades makes this impressive _shhhk_ noise that has Henry leaning forward eagerly with a wide grin.

"I wasn't the one so eager for yet _another_ rematch, love," he murmurs in Emma's ear, voice low and amused and holding a secret edge of _promise_ in it that has her curling her toes and gulping hard despite herself (she is more determined to win every time, to _prove_ that he didn't ever go easy on her) - then suddenly winks and adds, "nor am I the one whose son is betting against his own mother."

"Wha - _Henry!_ " Emma squawks, thoroughly betrayed despite the twelve-nothing record speaking very much in the pirate's favor, and Hook seizes the moment with a laugh - and then it's all clashing blades, the cheering crowd, grinning and knowing that she's hopelessly outmatched but pressing forward again and again anyway because this is ridiculously _fun_ , meeting Hook's eyes and knowing he feels the same.

* * *

**Emma and Hook dealing with Neal's death together.**

This time, they clink their cups together in silence.

They drink once, twice, three times without saying a single word.

Emma speaks first, eventually, voice rough from more than the rum: "This is the third time I've lost him… and it's the only one that doesn't feel _real_."

Very carefully, Hook sits down next to her, slides an arm around her waist and waits as she slowly, slowly relaxes into him, head leaning on his shoulder.

"Aye," he says, and thinks of selling Bae to Pan, of Tamara's casual admission of what she'd done, of Neal standing tall and proud in front of the Wicked Witch, sacrificing himself with a smile for his family's sake, "I know the feeling."


	17. Glasses

**Emma has lost her contact lenses so she has to wear her old glasses.**

 

"What’s this, then?" he says hoarsely by way of greeting, frozen in the doorway with an odd look on his face, and it takes Emma a moment to realize what he’s getting at.

When she does, it’s with a shrug and absent-minded tap to the black glasses she’s wearing. “Oh, uh - lost my contacts, and I need these to drive, at least until the new ones come in. Kinda dorky, I know.”

She goes back to her paperwork as she waits for Hook to respond, shoving the glasses back up onto her nose every few minutes because the left arm got bent a while ago and now they’re too loose - but after five minutes, Hook’s silence is weird enough for her to put down her pen and look up at him with a sigh, a ‘what the hell is your problem’ on her lips.

But it’s gone as soon as her eyes meet his, because he’s still standing in that same spot in the doorway, staring intently at Emma with slightly glazed eyes, breathing a little shallow, and - she _recognizes_ that face, that’s the face he made the first time she wore a transparent shirt around him.

He’d been useless for hours, that day. Emma wonders, as she looks back down at her paperwork, taking her glasses off and twirling them around her fingers ‘absently’, just how long he’ll take to break this time.

(A whopping five minutes, at which point she nibbles on one of the arms of the glasses, humming thoughtfully down at her work. He makes this low, almost _offended_ noise in the back of his throat, and then he’s snatching them out of her hand, sliding them back onto her nose before kissing her much, much more deeply than is appropriate for a public office at ten in the morning.)

(She’ll have to remember this, Emma thinks, and tugs him closer.)


	18. Chocolate Cake

**CS and chocolate cake. Make of it what you will ;)**

After the police station, they head back to Emma’s apartment to talk. Henry won’t be home from school for about two hours yet, and as much as she’s still reeling from eleven years of _real_ memories snapping back into place (she’d clung to him so hard, unable to even _breathe_ under the onslaught of returning loneliness, pain, hate - and family, and _Hook_ , in New York a year after and it was impossible and he was hugging her back and she couldn’t let go until a passing businessman had shouted at them to quit blocking the sidewalk)… Emma knows she needs to get answers while she can; she wants to get all the nasty surprises out of the way before Henry gets back.

So she invites Hook in and tries not to pay attention to the way he’s craning his head around, taking in every inch of her home. His eyes linger on the chain hanging from the wall next to the kitchen - and now that Emma remembers, she can understand _why_ , it’s nearly an exact replica of the one she used to chain him on the beanstalk - but he doesn’t comment. Just sits down at the table and taps his fingers on the wood awkwardly.

Emma goes into the kitchen and pulls out two short glasses; grabs a bottle of rum from the top cabinet (they’ll need it) and plunks them all down on the table. Hook just looks up at her, and for a moment their eyes meet and Emma can’t breathe, he’s staring at her like he wants to say something incredibly important - like the words have been choking him for the past year and now that she _remembers_ it’s all he can do to swallow them back. Emma feels the same way, somehow: even though she never knew to miss him she can feel her throat closing up, wants to tell him that she’d felt empty this whole time without ever understanding why.

Instead, she sucks in a shaky breath, and turns back to the kitchen. As helpful as the rum will be, Emma can’t afford to get drunk, so the next best thing is -

"Do you like chocolate cake?" she asks, pulling the half-eaten dessert out of the fridge. She starts cutting two generous slices without waiting for Hook’s answer - everyone likes chocolate cake, anyway, and she doesn’t want to turn around just yet (she’s still trembling a little at him being here).

She sets a plate and fork down in front of Hook, then sits opposite him and digs into her own, stuffing her mouth with chocolate and trying not to think about eleven years a lie, all the real things she’d lost. Parents, a home, a family much too complicated but _hers_ \- magic and Neverland and Hook’s mouth, hot and fast against her lips and -

Emma chokes on her next bite. Washes it down with a swig of rum, and that’s really not the best mix but she doesn’t care, takes another large gulp because _he kissed her_ , he kissed her and said he hoped she felt the same, kissed her to try and break the curse, _holy hell_.

When she glances up across the table (unable _not_ to), Hook is watching her with a fond smile, his food untouched.

Emma’s cheeks heat up. “Hey,” she says gruffly, jabbing her fork at his plate, “eat that, I worked hard on it.”

And - god, it’s _humiliating_ how her heart skips when he perks up, looks down at his cake with renewed interest. “You made this, Swan?” he asks, scooping up a forkful as delicately as if it were made of glass. “I never took you for the baking type.”

"I’m not," Emma protests instantly. "Not really. I just - sometimes - Henry does most of the work anyway, I mean it isn’t anything fancy but it’s not _bad_ -“

She’s cut off by Hook’s muffled moan, his eyes widening then falling shut in utter bliss as he slowly drags the fork out between his closed lips. And - of course Emma’s looking at those lips now, she can’t help it, and they’re smooth and a little too pink from being pressed together so hard, those lips that kissed her yesterday, moving as he chews - her eyes flick to his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows slowly several times, obviously savoring the flavor.

Emma shuts her gaping mouth quickly before he opens his eyes.

"Bloody hell," he says, catching her off-guard with a sudden grin. "That’s the best chocolate cake I’ve had in hundreds of years."

It’s such an - it’s so odd a thing to hear that it startles a laugh out of Emma, a quick unguarded little burble of amusement. And then Hook’s just lighting up even further, grinning hugely and somehow Emma’s grinning back, all her emotional armor tossed aside because _Hook_ is beaming at her over a slice of chocolate cake and Hook is here and she’s eating chocolate cake with Hook and it’s been a year and he’s _here_ and this feels stupidly like a date.

"I bet it’s the _only_ chocolate cake you’ve had in hundreds of years,” Emma teases, hardly recognizing her own voice, it’s so light and flirty and - happy.

"As I said: the _best_ , well worth enjoying,” Hook says feelingly, then scoops up another forkful and holds it out across the table. “Shall we?”

It takes Emma a second to catch on, but once she realizes what he’s after she grins and gets a forkful of her own.

"To chocolate cake," she smirks, and goes to bump her fork against his, but Hook pulls his hand back a little out of the way, smile fading into something much softer, more longing.

"To chocolate cake," he agrees quietly (he kissed her at the door and her heart is _aching_ ) - “and other pleasures most sorely missed.”

When their forks collide, the tines get stuck together and cake crumbs spill all over the table. They stuff what’s left of their bites into their mouths at the same time, and something about that evaporates the solemn mood settling over them: they grin around their mouthfuls, Hook’s entire face melting into a relaxed expression of bliss as he slowly chews the chocolate cake - but he doesn’t close his eyes this time, doesn’t look away from Emma at all.

Neither of them look away, as they work their way through the rest of the cake. They eat in silence, but it’s the most comfortable sort imaginable, and despite knowing she should - she _needs_ to - Emma can’t bear to break it by asking about what’s wrong in Storybrooke.

The drama, the pain, the worry and the Savior can all wait for just five minutes longer.

Emma Swan is busy eating (honestly pretty average) chocolate cake with a pirate just now, heart thumping soft and smile wide, because he’s got some frosting on his nose and he tried to wake her with True Love’s Kiss.


	19. The Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are brief mentions of moments based on spoiler pictures in here. Also, some headcanons of mine regarding the development of CS.

**I was thinking about how long it must have been since the last time someone told Killian they loved him and that it might make an interesting fic.**

 

                Somehow, it stops his heart to hear the words.

It’s not a surprise, not anymore. He’s known that he loves Emma for quite some time now (had known that he _could_ love her ever since she looked him in the eye and smiled and didn’t believe a word he was saying, and hated himself for it at first), and has been given progressively good reasons in recent history to believe she feels the same.

(The True Love’s Kiss waking him from the Wicked Witch’s sleeping curse is the most obvious proof, but to tell the truth it’s not his favorite. It was flashy and dramatic and highly emotional, and Killian won’t ever deny how his heart caught in his throat and his fingers trembled and his smile felt like it would never fade, and the softness of her lips against his as they kissed again, the wet edge of a tear on her cheek –

But that wasn’t when he realized she loved him in return. No, he understood _that_ much when she told him to take Henry to safety after his father’s death. She’d stared Killian down, jaw clenched, and her voice was much too raw when she said, “I need you to do this, Hook,” and he’d just nodded, speechless, because somehow he _knew_.)

Perhaps that’s the reason he can’t breathe now - Emma Swan has always been a woman of action, not words. Oh, she can surely spin a pretty speech when she wants to, and her wit is one of her many weapons, but when it comes to matters of the heart, she prefers to show than to tell. Killian understands that; it’s yet another trait they have in common.

(And he suspects that Emma is so much like him, that her caution with words is equally as instinctive, and equally as learned. That when she was young she held them much too close, because every lost boy clings close to his words of love, every lost girl knows better than to give them away to just anyone.

But she’d grown older and found someone to love, someone she trusted implicitly with her heart, and the words had come all too easily then. Despite all she’d ever learned, she’d spoken so much of love her mouth grew dry, she could talk of little else. Killian is sure of this because it’s happened to him twice over now and at least he always knew his love felt the same; when she was ripped away it was with a final declaration on her lips. Unlike Emma, he’s never been quite that sort of broken.)

And as much as _he_ knows it and _she_ knows it, as much as it has been undeniably proven with the magic in their kiss - the reason Killian himself has never told Emma he loves her in so many words (he tells her countless other ways, instead: every touch, every look, every promise he makes) is because he knows she’s not ready. He doesn’t want to push her too hard, not now.

Killian never considered that _he_ was the one who wasn’t ready.

(“You couldn’t handle it,” she’d told him so long ago, and it’s never stopped being true.)

Because they’re leaning up on the same tree, shoulders pressed close together as they watch Henry playing with Roland. The camp of Merry Men is bustling all around them, but he and Emma are standing just a little back from the activity, content to watch David fussing over the very pregnant Snow, Robin arguing amiably with Regina, even the Crocodile curled up with his Belle by the fireside, and Killian never would have believed he could be so happy, no matter how many centuries he lived, when Emma speaks up.

"I love you," she says, simply. Her voice is low - they may be undisturbed for now but they aren’t exactly in _private_ \- but calm, unhurried.

And she is merely stating what is by now a well-known fact but suddenly Killian is _frozen_. He can’t look at her, can’t speak, can’t think, can’t _breathe_ , he –

Only four people have ever said those words to him, and they all died over three hundred years ago. Killian has… he’s _forgotten_ , what they sound like on the lips of the living, and for a moment all he can think of is Milah, gasping on the deck - Liam, crumpling without warning - his father, no more than sails on a distant horizon - his mother, just a hazy impression of a warm smile and a song - and now Emma, _Emma Swan_ three hundred bloody years later, leaning on a tree and acting as though these are the simplest words that exist.

It _aches_ all through him and he’s not - he can’t breathe, she deserves any response except this but he simply _can’t_ give her one _–_

And then she reaches out, and takes his hand.

Their fingers interlock, warm and rough and alive, so _alive_ , nothing else need exist but this. It’s just a simple press of palm against palm but Killian would fight any foe, weather any storm, just for this. He grips her hand back, because her fingers are shaking - and, gods, what his silence must have cost her.

Emma Swan, the Savior, the mother, the Lost Girl who has so long since become Killian’s home, Emma Swan whose heart it took Killian four realms, nearly two years, and _all that he was_ to win - she just said, “I love you.”

Heat rushes through him, and some essential part of Killian just… gives in.

(Three hundred years ago, Milah died in his arms, whispering one last, “I love you.”

Now, Emma says it again, short nails digging into his palm, and as he finally turns his head to see her she’s got her eyes set firmly on the horizon: “I love you.”)

He turns and presses her back up against the bark, blocking the rest of the camp’s view of her with his body, and kisses her softly, four times. Openmouthed and slow.

Breathes the words into her mouth, one by one, and clutches her hand ever tighter, refuses to ever let go: “I love you too.”

(They’re the simplest, most dangerous words ever invented.

Emma smiles against his lips.)


	20. Endearments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt this time.

He only ever calls her _sweetheart_ when he's angry at her. He'll snap the word out, harsh and unforgiving, as far from sweet as possible. It's come to the point that Emma's surprised to hear other people say it affectionately, lovingly – to her, 'sweetheart' now means furrowed eyebrows, a deep scowl, an accent getting rougher and a hand making sharp gestures in the air.

(When she's angry, she calls him _Hook_. Spits it out like a swearword instead of a name, snaps the 'k' off her tongue and presses her lips together afterwards like they feel dirty for having said it.)

_Darling_ is for when he's feeling sarcastic. Oh, sometimes he'll say it more seriously, but there's always this edge of mockery to the word, like she's anything but. He'll kind of… drawl it out, emphasize it so it stands out from the rest of what he's saying, becomes a little ridiculous, a parody of affection from a man who scoffs at trivial expressions of such. He says 'darling' like a sneer, like he'd laugh at anyone who says it and means it, like he expects her to do the same.

(Emma can make _Hook_ sound like the most ridiculous word ever invented. It's not actually that hard, given that it was a made-up title originally anyway, hardly a real _name_. She can say it in such a way that it perfectly conveys the idea that anyone who would ever use it as a name is an idiot and the sheer ridiculousness of saying it makes her smirk hard to contain; like she fully expects him to smirk back.)

When he's making fun of her, he calls her _pet_. It's condescending, but not generally in any serious capacity – more of a verbal eye-roll if anything, a smug little joke with himself. The word feels like he's smirking, patting her on the head, and never fails to annoy Emma.

(All she has to do is think of codfish and perms: _Hook_ instantly becomes the equivalent of chucking him under the chin, pinching his cheeks. By the frustrated look on his face, he's well aware.)

_Lass_ is almost another form of teasing, but on more equal grounds. It's something he calls other women too, something that was probably once quite habitual but is now, for Emma at least, reserved for when he's feeling cheerful, lighthearted. His voice is warm and his smile is real, and he probably never even realizes he's saying the word.

( _Hook_ slips all too easily off her tongue these days, fits in casually familiar sentences like "hey, c'mere for a sec" that have no purpose other than to get him close enough that she can lace her fingers through his and bump their shoulders together. There's an edge of laughter in her voice for no reason at all.)

Another word that he uses on every woman is _love_. He peppers his sentences with it, here and there, just to provide emphasis or to catch her attention. It's no romantic declaration, though he does avoid saying it whenever they're having an argument or anything too serious is going on. The word slips out easily at other times though, naturally and calmly and kind of soothing, because when Hook calls her 'love' Emma knows she can stay relaxed, nothing too crazy is happening.

(There's a particular way she says _Hook_ now – most days it isn't a title or a character, it's just who he _is_ , just 'Hook' and sometimes she has to stop to wonder at how simple that's become, how natural it feels.)

He calls her _beautiful_ sometimes. Other compliments flow out easily from between his lips most days; he'll call her gorgeous, brilliant, amazing, fantastic, but 'beautiful' is the only one he says like a name. The word is at once a casual flirt, a simple compliment – and yet simultaneously so much more. He looks at her with such… joy, with this almost awe, and uses the word like an identity, like it sums her up far beyond skin or even bones but down to her very soul, like it's just intrinsic to who she is.

(There are times she says _Hook_ and the word comes out too soft, almost weak. It tingles in her lips and lingers in the air she breathes out and sometimes she feels like all the world is contained in that one word. Sometimes it feels like chocolate melting on her tongue and she wants to hide her head after, because just saying his name like that exposes too much – but then his face smoothes out, his smile is small and heartfelt and she feels a little like bursting but not at all like looking away.)

He calls her _milady_ on occasion, and sometimes he refers to her as _Lady Swan_ in front of other people. Whenever he does this it means he's doing something for her sake. Obeying orders, usually, but sometimes just doing her a favor – something he knows she would like. Something he thinks she deserves – because calling a woman a 'lady' has always been a sign of respect and this is no different. Emma might drink and fight and swear and wear pants instead of frilly dresses; for all she's a princess she's much more a lost girl, a sheriff who once stole to survive but when Hook calls her a lady it's simply because he means it, he thinks that much of her.

(She hasn't ever called him by his full title except the one time when they first met, but Emma has grown very capable of saying _Hook_ in a way that includes the missing 'Captain'. It's a particular kind of respectful angle to the word, one she uses when she's recognizing his authority, following his orders, trusting herself to follow where he leads, because pirate is not the same as villain, and he has long since become one of the few people she trusts implicitly.)

Most of the time he simply calls her _Swan_. It serves most every purpose really, because it's her name, it's who she _is_ and Emma never tells him but she loves that he calls her that. She has carried this name around for nearly her whole life as a bitter souvenir from her first foster parents – the ones who gave her back. Being called 'Swan' used to hurt, used to feel like poking a deep bruise on the best of days, an open wound on the worst – but because Hook calls her that so persistently, it's become different. It's as though, just through saying the name so often and so easily, he's taken it back from the people she once called parents, and handed it to Emma. He treats it like her name and so it has _become_ her name, it's hers now and hearing it on his lips gives her strength every day.

(When he finally told her the whole story of how he'd lost his hand, Emma hadn't known what to say. In the end his name slipped out of her lips unbidden, low and aching: _Hook_. And it should have been stupid, should have been insensitive and wrong and in many ways she should have stopped saying it long ago but especially then – but somehow, his reaction was the exact opposite of hurt. He took a deep breath and met her eyes, his lips curved up just barely at the corner, and maybe other people wouldn't understand but Emma did, and called him 'Hook' again.)

His last name for her is her first, and he reserves it for times of high emotion. Coming from his lips, it's never neutral. He's screamed it when she's in danger, he's roared it when she left him behind, he's begged it when trying to return her memories, he's rushed it roughly from his lips when confessing his secret in the Echo Cave, he's breathed it out delicately when telling the same secret, much later and in only three words. Whenever he calls her _Emma_ it truly means something, it's special, brands itself into her heart and while the meaning may vary, the weight of it never does. It's always precious.

(She's less versatile. When she calls him _Killian_ it means only one thing: "I love you.")


	21. Effervescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some spoilers in this one.

**effervescent:**   _adjective  
_       -(of a liquid) giving off bubbles; fizzy.

 

"I have to admit," Emma said, popping a fry into her mouth, "I’m kinda impressed with how easily you’re fitting in."

It was a long drive to Maine, about eight hours, and while a part of Emma hadn’t wanted to stop for lunch at all, too eager to get back to her parents (she _had parents_ , god), Henry was getting hungry and, five hours in, she’d really needed to stretch her legs a bit. So here they were, in a rest stop McDonald’s, eating burgers with Captain Hook in full pirate regalia.

"…Okay, not _fitting in_ ,” Emma amended wryly, as yet another family of tourists walked by, pointing and whispering and probably snapping photos with their phones. “But you found me in New York, even though everything must be completely new to you, I just - “

Hook grinned, and her mouth grew dry. He’d been doing that a lot since she remembered - _smiling_ , this giddy little twitch at the corner of his mouth whenever she looked over to him, which sometimes burst up into a toothy smirk, and he kept _watching_ her, just - just smiling, like he knew something she didn’t, and - it was hard to deal with.

(Last night her boyfriend of nearly a year had proposed to her. Today Emma was trying to ignore the way her heart skipped when Hook just _met her eyes,_ Walsh hundreds of miles behind her, and - she was so fucked.

She just wanted to go _home_ , didn’t want to deal with new curses or enemies, much less her love for the first man she’d been able to truly trust since Neal suddenly feeling fuzzy and unreal, and everything about Hook so painfully solid. She just - wasn’t ready for this, and he looked so goddamn _happy_ to have her back.)

"I think you’ll find that I’m quite _adaptable_ , love,” Hook glanced quickly about the room, but Henry was in the bathroom, and he waggled his eyebrows completely unsubtly as he finished: “I’m up for _anything_.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but she could feel her face heating despite herself. Quickly taking a sip of her drink to avoid having to _say_ anything, the distraction proved more than useless when Hook’s hand shot forward and closed over her fingers around the cup. Slowly leaning forward, he held her gaze as he wrapped his lips delicately around her straw, and - _fuck_ , this was like the beanstalk all over again, she couldn’t pull away or even breathe, couldn’t think, he was staring boldly up at her as his cheeks hollowed and he _sucked hard -_

-and promptly choked, falling back in his chair, eyes going wide as he coughed and spluttered. Emma dropped the cup to the table, breathing hard, as Hook coughed and wheezed and attempted to regain his dignity.

"What the bloody hell was _that?_ " he spat, burping loudly and then wrinkling up his entire face in clear horror.

Still staring, it took Emma a moment to catch on, but when she did - when she did, for a second, everything else melted away. She bit her lip, trying to hold it in, but a giggle quickly turned into a laugh, and by the time Hook finally stopped rubbing at his mouth she was full on _cracking up._

He looked so _indignant_ but he’d been trying to flirt and he’d choked on her Sprite and Emma had _tears_ in her eyes, it was so fucking stupid but every time she thought she might stop she’d glance up and he’d be - he’d be eying her paper cup with such  _betrayal_ , oh god she couldn’t keep it in.

In twenty minutes they’d be back on the road, heading towards certain danger and _family_ and away from everything she’d ever known - for the past year - and she’d have an almost-fiance she’d left behind and a man who’d traveled worlds to find her sitting in the passenger seat, and still no true certainty who she even _was_ anymore…

But for now, Henry was back and asking what Emma was laughing at, and when she pointed across the table, still snickering too hard to speak, Hook actually _sniffed and looked away_ , and she - just, if only for this moment, Emma couldn’t stop laughing, loud and clear and happy.


	22. Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers in this one.

**I think when she gets her memories back her first word will be "Hook", but when Henry asks her about him she'll say "This is Killian."**

 

Remembering wasn’t like Emma would have imagined it to be. She didn’t have to struggle at all, wasn’t confused – the memories just took a moment to settle in, but then she understood everything perfectly.

She was the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. Henry’s other mother was the Evil Queen. The last year of her life had been a beautiful lie. Captain Hook was standing in front of her, anxiously waiting to see if the potion had worked.

She blinked, and met his eyes, and… it was as simple as that.

“ _Hook_ ,” she said.

–and then he was hugging her, before she could think; rough and sudden and full of emotion. He wrapped his right arm around over her shoulder, she could feel his hand clenching into her hair, the wooden one pressing against the small of her back as he slid his other arm around her waist, tightly, crushing her arm to her side, so tight she couldn’t _breathe_ , he was – he wasn’t moving. Suddenly he was freezing, grip loosening, as though he’d abruptly realized what he was doing, and then a second later he was starting to pull back, to _let go_.

Emma didn’t let him.

She let her arms fall down around his back, holding on as well as she could with her hands full, and leaned into him. She felt like it would be wrong to close her eyes, somehow, that doing so would change the nature of this hug in some way, make it mean too much, and so she kept them open. But she pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing in leather and salt and – something she couldn’t identify, maybe magic, it didn’t matter – slowly, he started to relax, to loosen and lean against her.

She nudged a little closer, head cheek brushing his, staring at the steps of the police station where he’d gotten himself locked up, for _her_ , and something in him seemed to break.

He breathed out, just a little, a soft, wordless sigh, and then his arms were _holding_ her again. The left one gently, slowly lowering over her own arm to settle on her waist; the right, pulling her closer and closer, she could feel his hand sliding through her hair again, his fingers slowly clenching against her. He was leaning ever further in now, his head angling in towards hers, and Emma stared up at the sky as Hook’s scruff scraped her cheek, his lips warm and barely touching the corner of her jaw, and she could hear his breathing settling, his heartbeat slowing.

It felt like everything was slowing.

She felt his cheek shift against hers, his fingers clenching a little against her shoulder, and swallowed hard. Pressed her chin in further against his collar, ignored her blurry vision, told herself it was probably time to let go –

There was a warm puff of air against her neck as he sighed again, soft and content.

She sighed too, and closed her eyes.

* * *

“Hey, Mom, I’m ho-“ Henry stopped abruptly, mouth still open as he stared at Hook. For a moment, Emma couldn’t understand the expression of confusion on his face – it was just _Hook_ , what was so confusing – but then it clicked.

Henry didn’t have his memories and Hook was dressed like he’d just stepped out of _Pirates of the Caribbean_. Great.

“Um, hey kid, this is – an old friend of mine,” she said slowly, attempting to figure out how to handle this. They had only just gotten back themselves, so she hadn’t really had time to talk to Hook and figure out a game plan, or even really what was going on.

(She was avoiding outright all thought of how he’d gotten here; why he’d kissed her; why she’d closed her eyes and clung to him for minutes on end when she remembered, couldn’t speak another word for a long time because her throat felt choked and her eyes wet and she couldn’t stop looking at him as they walked down the street, couldn’t stop staring, her skin hot, her breath fast; was not thinking at all about how he’d _kissed_ her the other day and when he’d pulled away from their hug earlier she’d almost thought for a second he was going to do it again.)

Henry nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows as he looked Hook up and down. “Okaaay…”

Hook’s lips twitched up into a smile that looked weirdly – nervous. “A pleasure to meet you, lad,” he said, holding out his hand to shake. “You’ll be Henry, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Henry drawled, still looking extremely skeptical as he shook Hook’s hand. “Who are you?”

“I’m –” Hook hesitated, and – the thing was, Emma didn’t want to hide this from him. In another life, she’d promised to never lie to Henry again, and she meant to _keep_ that promise. But just because she didn’t intend on hiding the truth from him, didn’t mean she wanted him to think she’d had some kind of mental break, either. She just, she just needed a little bit of time, just needed to talk to Hook and figure out what the hell was actually going on, how was he – why was her family in danger, what was happening. Then she’d tell Henry. As soon as she knew herself, as soon as she could figure out a way to make it not sound crazy. For now, though, Hook was dressed weirdly and hesitating and she just needed to –

“Killian,” she blurted, the name oddly – all too easy on her lips. Too ready in her mind, considering she’d heard it just once, over a year and several adventures ago, but there it was, slipping off her tongue as easy as if she’d said it all her life: “This is Killian Jones.”

For some reason, she put her hand on Hook’s shoulder when she said that. Yanked it off a second later, feeling flushed and flustered and Henry was looking at _her_ now, still all skeptical.

“Okay,” he said. His voice had that level tone reserved for when the person you’re talking to is acting a little bit crazy, and she thought, _just you wait, kid_. “How do you guys know each other?”

“We – worked together,” Emma improvised, very carefully not looking at Hook. “About a year ago, he helped me find – find a guy who’d kidnapped a kid. I… couldn’t have got the guy without him.”

Henry’s eyes went wide, all reservations wiped away in the face of this background, and he spun to Hook eagerly – he’d always loved Emma’s stories about her job. “ _Really?_ ”

“Oh,” Hook said, and his voice was so soft, so rough, that Emma couldn’t help glancing over instinctively. He looked – disarmed, and a little sad, but before she could even think of reacting, he was clearing his throat and saying again, more normally: “Oh, yes. I’m sure your mother would have succeeded without my help, though. I’ve never known her to fail.”

(It rang like an echo in her ears, a year late but just as strong; she remembered his certainty, his deep blue eyes and low voice and standing so close.)

“No, I needed you,” she found herself insisting, and turning to him, and he had this slightly _wrecked_ look on his face, and she had to look back at Henry fast.

“Wow,” Henry said, staring at Hook like he was something amazing – and it hit Emma that he _was_ , he’d somehow come here, he’d found her, he’d kissed her in the doorway and they’d hugged on the street and suddenly Walsh popped into her head, the first time all day and he’d proposed last night, and she couldn’t – she just needed –

“Um, K-” the sound stalled in her throat when she tried to say it directly to his face, he was looking at her like – like he’d _kissed her_ (and she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this, Henry didn’t remember, her family was in danger, Walsh was – there were more important things right now, than him trying to break the curse with–), but she swallowed and managed to force it out, only a little shaky: “Killian, can you just – wait here with Henry for a minute? I’m just going to – I’ll be right back.”

She grabbed her coat and keys and rushed out the door, slamming it behind her. Didn’t even pretend to go anywhere, just slid down the wall and put her head on her knees and breathed in, out.

“So… it’s for a job, I guess? That’s why you’re wearing that?” she heard Henry say through the thin walls, muffled but clearly amused.

Hook scoffed after a moment, an awkward, faux-offended sound, and then she heard him say, “Well – why are _you_ wearing _that?_ ” and she could picture him gesturing at Henry’s – backpack, or something, could close her eyes and see it clear as day, his smirk and Henry’s confused grin, and she breathed in, out, in, out.

Her family was in danger.

Henry needed to remember.

Walsh… would have to wait.

She could do this.

* * *

When she returned five minutes later, with sandwiches from that place on the corner in her hands, Henry had Hook in front of the TV, looking totally lost with a game controller in his hand. They looked up at her with identical grins.

“ _Yes_ ,” Henry said, when he saw what Emma was holding, and jumped to his feet. He grabbed Hook’s sleeve and yanked him up as well, said, “You’re gonna love these, Killian, they’re the best in the city.”

Emma met Hook’s eyes over Henry’s head. He smiled at her, a hopeful, vulnerable little twitch of the lips – and without thinking, she smiled back.


	23. Serenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a convoluted prompt for this one. Someone commented on a gifset of Hook in the new sneak peak (go watch it, it's amazing!) that it looked like he was singing. After reblogging that I got a message asking where all the fics of this were, and, well.
> 
> Watch out for some spoilers.

He’s got a great voice, honestly. One of those ones where you can hear the accent clearly even when he’s singing, it’s not too deep or too high, a little rough but - there’s this sincerity to it, this odd arresting quality and she can’t look away.

Then again that could be because he just _dropped to his knee_ in a public park and started _serenading her_. Thank god it’s after dark, at least there are fewer people around. And maybe the shadows will hide the flush on her cheeks.

"Hook," she hisses, because okay, they’ve been drinking, him more than her, but surely _not this much_ , “what are you doing? Get up!”

He just grins, sloppy and wide, and spreads his arms out farther to his sides. Wobbles a little, laughs a bit, and then closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath and starts singing again, resuming from where he left off without pause: “- _the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam._ ”

"Oh my god, stop, please stop." Emma looks around frantically. Just when she's thinking at least they’re alone, she spots Archie and Pongo strolling along the path towards them and groans, burying her face in her hands.

“ _And I know it’s true_ ,” Hook belts out, only getting _louder_ , for fuck’s sake. Emma nods and waves Archie on with a tight nothing-to-see-here grin as he hustles by her to the tune of, “ _that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I -_ “

"Wait a second, I know this - this is… oh my god, this is from _Sleeping Beauty_. Are you seriously singing -“

“ _know you, I know what you’ll do -_ ”

"-freaking _Disney songs_ at me, Hook? How did you even _hear_ this?”

He actually stops singing for a moment, to blink up at her and say, “Henry,” and okay, fair enough. He sounds a little dizzy and Emma breathes a sigh of relief.

"Okay, good, you’re done," she says, and tugs on his hand. "Get up, let’s get out of here."

He takes her hand, but doesn’t let her pull him up so much as he’s suddenly standing, smoothly, and his voice has gone all low and his hand is clasping tight around hers and he’s still singing, but this time in almost a whisper, intimate and meaningful, not at all the overblown cheesiness of mere moments ago.

“ _You’ll love me at once,_ " he sings to Emma softly, and lifts their hands up to press a soft kiss to her palm, not breaking eye contact, " _the way you did once upon a dream_.”

Emma opens her mouth, but she can’t think of what to say.

"A bit backwards, I know, love," he sighs after a moment (and, oh - _there’s_ the slight slur in his voice, where was it when he was singing?), then shrugs. “But a fairly accurate representation of my thoughts when I arrived in New York.”

It’s the first time he’s ever brought up the kiss he greeted her with when he found her after their year apart. They’ve been together for a while now, but even after exchanging more traditional declarations of love neither one of them has ever so much as referenced Hook’s attempt at True Love’s Kiss. It always seemed like such a huge thing to Emma, a little terrifying and honestly just better off untouched, so she tried never to even think of it and mostly succeeded.

But Hook’s smiling contentedly down at her and suddenly Emma can’t help but remember how _confident_ he’d seemed, for that one brief instant. How utterly certain that it would work - for all that he’d called it a “long shot”, he’d just told Emma that he had really believed it would work. He’d been sure that she loved him back - more than that, that their love was strong enough to create the most powerful magic, strong enough to break her curse.

So she’d kneed him in the balls and then spent two days calling him insane. Yelled at him, threatened him, blatantly refused to trust him - gotten him arrested, too, for good measure.

He hasn’t ever mentioned it. Hasn’t ever complained or let on that it phased him in any way - even back then, she remembers how weirdly _happy_ he’d been, despite everything going on. How he’d smiled at her, how his arms had tightened around her when she finally _did_ remember, and whispered, “good to have you back, Swan.”

And it’s not that Emma feels guilty for her actions under the curse. She had no memories, he seemed psycho; her actions made perfect sense under the circumstances, right until she actually drank the potion he’d given her. Emma can’t be blamed for the life she’d lived during the year she’d been cursed, or for her reaction to Hook’s appearance in that life. She not only knows that intellectually but fully believes it.

But that’s not what this is about. It’s not Emma giving him extra credit just for being decent enough _not_ to resent her for dating Walsh, or rejecting him so harshly. This is about simply _understanding_ , for the first time, just how it must have felt from his end. How much it must have _hurt_ , to have such deep certainty in her love shattered so quickly.

But he’d never faltered, not once. And even when Emma got her memories back and was all business, determined to save her family before getting into any kind of romantic relationship, he’d never pushed her. He also hadn’t backed off, never once tried to pull himself back to a less vulnerable position. He’d just… kept loving her.

Emma looks at Hook, smiling softly down at their clasped hands with a bit of a vacant, drunk expression on his face - and feels her heart swell, feels emotion tighten in her chest and throat; knows she’ll never be able to put into words how much she loves him now, how she _knows_ somehow that their kiss today would break any curse.

She leans up and kisses him, instead. Softly - gentle, for the most part, though Hook responds stupidly eagerly, nipping at her lips, eyes fluttering open with a deep sigh when she slowly pulls away.

"Next time you sing for me," Emma says - fondly, damn her, because he’s an idiot and she’s _so in love_ \- “we’d better not be in public.”


	24. Bologna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://colinodorknoghue.tumblr.com/post/79164703981/ok-im-gonna-check-the-cs-ff-tag-now-and-there) on Tumblr.

They've been driving for about four hours when stomachs start grumbling, and if they want to make it to Storybrooke before dark, they really shouldn't stop for longer than a quick gas-up. Luckily, Emma planned for this: she turns the music down and flaps a hand at Henry in the backseat.

"Hey, kid, it's lunchtime. Pass out the goods."

He grumbles for a bit, making repeated requests for "just a minute" while he tries to finish the level on his game. Emma just continues to smack blindly at the air, occasionally colliding with his knee or leg or arm, repeating, "c'mon, I'm hungry."

Finally he shuts the game off with a sigh that isn't nearly as annoyed as he tries to make it sound. "You're so rude, Mom. Aren't you supposed to be setting a good example?"

"Too late," she quips back, "the damage is done. Now gimme my sandwich."

Henry snorts, but a moment later there's a rustling noise as he digs around in the footwell for the shopping bag of food and snacks, soon emerging with several tinfoil-wrapped squares. He presses one into her open hand and she yanks it forward swiftly. She's just fumbling one-handed with the wrapping – trying to use her teeth to pull it free without ingesting any tinfoil is harder than it sounds – when there's a light touch on her shoulder. Hook.

She glances over and then back to the road very quickly, feeling weirdly embarrassed of him witnessing her banter with Henry. Or maybe it's more… proud, in a shy sort of way. He's never really seen her with Henry before, not when nothing else was going on – and definitely not when she has over a decade of fake memories of these sorts of interactions. She feels kind of on display, but not exactly in a bad way. Like she almost _wants_ him to see what kind of mother is, how much her love for her son extends beyond questing to get him back, but she's nervous of what he'll think.

"D'you want me to get that for you?" Hook asks, and when Emma glances swiftly at him again, he's got a little grin on his face.

"Oh…" she says, taken aback. "Uh, sure. Thanks, Killian."

(The name is a lot easier than she would have expected it to be. It's not as natural as calling him Hook, she still thinks of him by his moniker, but there's no real hesitation to the word either. 'Killian' slips right off her tongue.)

Hook takes the sandwich and braces it in his lap with his fake hand while picking at the wrapper with his good one. Emma sighs, spits a bit of tinfoil out of her mouth, and tells Henry, "Wax paper next time."

"We were out," he responds, and then reaches forward with a second package, just as Hook finishes folding back a neat three-quarters of Emma's sandwich wrapper and passes it back. "Here, Killian, I made your favorite."

Hook's eyebrow shoots up, even as he accepts the sandwich and begins to unwrap it. "And how would you know my favorite?"

Emma only remembers what she told her son this morning a second before Henry says it – "Mom told me you really love bologna, so I made you a bologna sandwich."

Hook freezes, hand crinkling around some tinfoil, and Emma takes a quick bite of her own turkey sandwich to hide her grin. Judging by the stormy silence from the seat next to her, it doesn't really work.

"Oh, did she? How…" she swears she can _hear_ his jaw working, in the pause before he grits out, " _kind_ of you, Swan. Sadly, I'm afraid y-"

"Go on, try it!" Henry interrupts from the back, before Hook can finish any sort of denial. "Tell me what you think, okay? I actually make the best sandwiches, and I put a ton of bologna in there, I bet you're gonna love it."

Hook falters, hand hesitating over his sandwich as he turns to stare into the backseat. There's this sort of lost look in his eyes, and Emma glances in the rearview to find Henry just absolutely _beaming_ back at the pirate. He even bounces in his seat a little, and Emma narrows her eyes at the uncharacteristic move. Her passenger doesn't seem to notice anything suspicious, though. Instead Hook's just kind of staring at Henry, for the longest time – and then his face breaks out into a wide smile.

"Thank you, lad," he grins, quite genuinely but for the way his lips twitch downwards whenever he glances at the food in his hand, panic flitting through his eyes. "Your thoughtfulness is much appreciated."

He picks at the wrapper, once again getting it open all too easily, and stares down at the bread for a moment. Emma and Henry exchange a glance in the rearview mirror, both smirking.

"Aye," Hook mutters quietly, then swallows and clears his throat, raising his voice. "You certainly know how to –" he lifts the sandwich up, twists in his seat briefly to flash a _painfully_ fake grin at Henry, who beams right back – "to win me over. Mmm. _Bologna._ "

If the wooden delivery wasn't enough, the way he then lifts the sandwich even closer to his face, slowly, slowly – screws his eyes shut, takes a deep breath, opens his mouth wide still trying to keep a smile – is just too much.

Emma snorts.

Hook snaps his head over to glare at her, but the indignation on his face only makes it worse, she has to put her own food down on her lap and curl both her hands round the steering wheel to keep it straight.

"What?" he asks, and then Henry's off too, giggling away in the backseat, and Hook looks back at him with this confused expression, he's turning back to Emma, going, " _What?_ "

Breathe, Swan. Don't drive off the road. Calm down.

"Your _face_ , that's what," she cackles, and Hook freezes, eyes wide. "Your – no, okay Killian, we aren't feeding you bologna, oh my _god_ ," and it's so stupid but _he's_ so stupid, there was _actual fear_ in his eyes, she can't _stop_.

"You… this isn't…?" Hook seems lost for words, and Henry leans forward to stick his head between the seats, grinning hard.

"It's just turkey, they're all turkey, we were just messing with you," the kid laughs – and it's a beautiful sound, long and bright and loud in the confines of the Bug, and Hook's cheeks actually _tinge pink_.

"You –" he stares wildly between them for a moment, then whips around to his sandwich and pulls the top slice of bread up to look inside it. When he lifts his head, the blush has gotten brighter, and he looks nearly as indignant as he did outside the police station; he's spluttering – "not funny, that's not funny at – bad form, Swan, both of you, very _bad form_ –"

Emma can't stop laughing, every time she comes close she'll glance over and Hook will be muttering indignantly, or she'll hear Henry snickering "' _bologna_ '" to himself and she'll crack up again, curling forward over the steering wheel, breath short, gut aching from the force of her amusement.

She laughs for what feels like forever, though it's probably only a couple of minutes. Henry calms down first, sits back with his own sandwich and a book, and Emma takes deep breath after breath, a little grin still playing about her lips, the occasional giggle still slipping out. She glances over at Hook one last time…

He's watching her. Food on his lap, held down by his false hand, he's got the other curled into a loose fist on his lap, thumb rubbing against his ring. He looks so relaxed, nearly boneless, and there's a soft smile on his lips, something even softer in his eyes, and – he looks happy. Ridiculously happy, just watching her laugh… and she realizes he's probably never seen her smile this much, never seen her really laugh at all; the thought aches unexpectedly against her breastbone.

"Well I'm glad you can at least derive some amusement from my suffering," he says after a moment, but his voice is too soft, too amused – and his mouth ticks up at one end and his eyes don't ever leave Emma's and he's still got that _smile_. She can't breathe again –

"Mom!" Henry says, and Emma jumps, turning back to the road just in time to avoid colliding with a semi-truck.

"I – sorry!" (Her voice is a little high. She can feel her cheeks heating; she doesn't want to look at the passenger seat.) "We're good. Thanks, kid."

Henry mumbles for her to be careful, already returning to his book. For several seconds there is complete silence. Emma drives, ignoring Hook's stare until she can't feel it anymore (not so much, it's just a low tingle of awareness now, not a constant buzzing, fizzing sensation wreaking havoc with her mind and heart-rate). After a little bit, she's just about calmed down.

Then Hook bites into his sandwich; makes a considering hum. Emma glances over at the noise, before she can stop herself, and he's _grinning_ around his mouthful, gaze flicking across her face and then back to the food in his hand, and on to Henry, to her again and once more he just looks so... _happy_. (She can feel her cheeks getting hot again.)

"Much better than bologna," he says, and shoots Emma a wink on his next bite.


	25. Work In Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSDES8fEhwk) from 3.14, picking up right after Emma asks if Hook’s glad to hear she had her heart broken.
> 
> Spoilers!

"If it can be broken," he says, stepping forward deliberately until there’s hardly a breath of air between them, "it means it still works."

All thought stops.

For a long moment, Emma can only stare at him, taking that in. The forest feels still around them, everything frozen but the steam mingling in the air between them as they breathe (his eyes dart to her lips).

"My heart works," Emma says softly. Hook’s staring back, not moving at all. They’re almost touching. She doesn’t know why she isn’t walking away right now.

"It worked before I was cursed," she says, tries to ignore the little catch in her throat, the lie she knows is hiding in her words (she wasn’t ready then, she knows that now because she would have been ready now, she _could be_ ready now, if only). This is a cruel thing to say but she doesn’t care. “I thought you knew that.”

She can hear the breath he takes, sharp and hurt.

"Whatever I thought I knew  _then_ , Swan,” he says, and when he licks his lips nervously she knows this is going to hurt: “I think your heart works better now.”

… _Oh_.

She was right; it’s a punch to the gut. Hook isn’t holding back at all. She should have known better than to bring up his failed attempt at restoring her memories with a kiss, even obliquely - _she’s_ not ready to even think about that, might not ever be ready, but she knew it would hurt him the most and she wanted to punish him for coming too close and she’s an _idiot_.

Hook isn’t going to back down just because she aims some painful truth at him. He’s never done that; just the opposite. He takes the blow and hits back harder, knows just where to strike for maximum damage and she can’t even ignore it because he’s completely right. She _does_ know how to love better now, that cursed life with Henry has managed to mend some of her most broken parts and it hurts to think she needed that to love again. That she required living a lie to be able to move past the decade-old ache of Neal in her chest, to be able to say, “I love you, kid,” to Henry when he isn’t dying, to let herself love another man and actually think about marrying him, about letting him become part of her family, her _home_. Emma never wanted to admit that but it doesn’t matter because Hook’s said it for her, he understands what truths she’ll hate the most just as she understood for him.

(She remembers smiling down at him in a hospital bed so long ago: “I know all sorts of sore places I can make you hurt,” and doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.)

Worst of all is this: because Emma _does_ understand him, she knew he would do this. She _knew_ he wouldn’t back down, knew he’d keep pushing as long as she keeps standing here letting him, and yet she didn’t walk away. She could have. Maybe she should have. As soon as he said her heart still worked she should have turned around and walked away - he would have let her. He always lets her leave.

She can still leave.

"Maybe it does," she says instead, words almost a whisper. Takes a deep breath and feels her chest brush against the front of his coat - they’ve swayed in even closer at some point, she can’t even tell when and she doesn’t care. Hook’s breath hitches when they touch.

He’s looking at her lips again.

"Maybe my heart does work better now," Emma breathes, and lifts her hands up to press them flat against his lapels.

Her fingers curl, gripping the leather, as she tilts her head and leans forward. Hook’s head angles in time with hers, slowly, so slowly that it could almost be a dream, as their lips press together for a long moment.

Emma pulls back. Hook leans forward with her, touching her as long as possible, and when their lips finally separate she sees his eyes are closed.

"Emma," he says, ragged. His eyes open slowly; his mouth falls open a little in a shaky breath and he takes an impossible step closer - body pressing against hers, noses nudging as he leans in again.

And she shouldn’t.

"Better doesn’t mean it’s working _well_ ,” Emma says just before his lips meet hers. Now is when she should step back. When she should leave. This is her last chance - so many times in this conversation she could have backed away, could have just _stopped talking_ , could have done anything but kiss him, anything at all. And now is her last chance. If she lets him kiss her now she won’t be able to leave, Emma knows this in her bones, and she _isn’t ready_ -

But all she can do is stand still and whisper, still holding on to his lapels. She can only try to tell him, try to let him know that whatever this is, she isn’t ready to - she’s not where he is, she can’t be, and this probably isn’t fair to him, she should step back for his sake but she _can’t_. She can’t make herself let go. Her knuckles are turning white from how hard she’s holding on.

Hook only hesitates for a moment.

"Well," he murmurs, breath hot against Emma’s skin, and when she glances up from his mouth he’s staring right at her, eyes honest and sure. "Then it’s a work in progress."

( _He understands_.)

And when he leans in again - still slow, still giving Emma plenty of time to pull back, to _run away_ \- she doesn’t move.

She lets him kiss her.

And she kisses back.


	26. Apodyopsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fun little vocabulary prompt I forgot to post earlier.
> 
> (I used [this picture](http://vickyvicarious.tumblr.com/post/69212237062) for inspiration.)

**apodyopsis:** _noun  
_

  1. the mental undressing of a person.



* * *

"I will confess," he says, running a hand down his chest thoughtfully and making an approving noise in the back of his throat as the fabric stretches slightly beneath his splayed fingers, "they aren’t as bad as I expected."

He’s wearing _jeans_ and gray converse shoes and Emma can only nod.

"Not equal to my own attire, mind you, but there is a certain - " Hook turns slightly and _stretches_ , shirt lifting just enough to reveal a thin stripe of skin, the muscles in his shoulders flexing visibly even beneath his leather jacket, _fuck_ \- “freedom of movement.”

He goes for the legs next, of course he does. Stuffs his hand into his pocket (tugging the jacket down slightly and with it a corner of the shirt and it slides over to expose the edge of a collarbone where he’s got it two buttons undone, damn him) and just _struts_ across the room, holy fuck she can’t stop staring.

He stops at the far wall, and turns to lean nonchalantly against it. Tucks both hand and hook into his pockets as best as he can, lifts one foot up to rest on the wall behind him, that absolute bastard, and leans his head forward a little.

He smirks; raises an eyebrow: “What do _you_ think, Swan?”

…Of course. Of  _course_ he’s doing it on purpose.

"Fuck off," Emma grumbles, after a pause several moments too long, and wrenches her eyes away to go pay for their purchases.

(Hook sidles up behind her at the counter, whispers, “only if you join me” into her ear, and her hand clenches so tight around her pen that she rips the receipt she’s signing.)

 


	27. Proof

**Tink's POV during the cs camping (coconut sharing) scene.**

* * *

 

She’d known Hook was different as soon as she saw his ship moored off the island. He finally makes a deal with Pan to get out of Neverland, disappears for nearly thirty years, and then suddenly he willingly comes back? Something had to have changed, even if it wasn’t his appearance. She didn’t need the confirmation of seeing him traveling with a bunch of royalty to know he was a different man.

She just hadn’t been sure why. Not until now.

Snow White and Prince Charming are resting cuddled up against the log in front of her, the strength of their love an almost palpable force in the air. But it’s not them Tink is interested in. She stares past them across the campfire, at Hook and Emma.

The woman is sitting upright, bent legs loosely crossed with her arms locked around them, but despite the closed-off stance she seems more relaxed than anything else. Certainly more relaxed than earlier. She’s staring absently at the fire, clearly thinking of her son, as she has been pretty much since they all settled down after dinner. She doesn’t even flinch when Hook sits down next to her, relaxing back against the log with one leg beneath him, the other bent at the knee - just glances briefly at him. His entire body angles towards hers, and he takes the time to settle in comfortably for several minutes before he pulls a coconut from the pile by his side with a small smirk and begins using his hook to gently knock a hole in it.

Task completed, he hands it to her, and Emma looks up to meet his eyes for a moment as she accepts the fruit. “Thanks,” she murmurs, taking a sip of coconut milk, and Hook smiles at her for a moment before reaching back to get one of his own.

His expression is so open, so soft. It’s lighter than Tink has ever seen it. Just that single soft word, just the acceptance of his gift and his presence by her side, and Hook’s clearly feeling proud, feeling _happy_. He looks like he’d do anything, just to see her small smile again - and Tink thinks of the man she used to know.

Captain Hook of Neverland was a vicious, ruthless, angry and broken man. The pain in his heart was sickening, a poison spreading through him and transforming what might once have been a good man into a true villain. Tink trusted him more than Pan, and felt sympathy for his cause - the one mention he’d made of his motives, at the beginning of their acquaintance, was all she needed. Hook had lost love and sought revenge no matter the cost, and since losing her wings Tink understands that point of view very well… no matter how wrong she knows it is.

But instead of revenge, he’s clearly found something much better. He’s found Emma, he’s found his _true_ _love_ \- even if she still had dust, Tink wouldn’t need it to know that’s what this is. It’s obvious, just by the way he looks at her. He’s changed, for good. Love has changed him, even if he doesn’t realize that yet, and the good man so long locked away inside is finally freeing himself.

Seeing this should make her happy. Villain though he was, Hook is as much of a friend as Tink’s had since losing her wings. But the reason for that friendship was because she’d lost everything just as he had, and watching him discover new hope makes the bitterness in Tink’s stomach boil higher; and she stands up suddenly, storming away to where Regina sits against a tree at a distance from the rest of the group. She can’t bear to watch Hook’s lovesick face any more, to watch Emma (who isn’t there yet, not at all, but she can be, she _will_ be, Tink can see it already) accept his comfort and fuel his redemption without even realizing it.

This is _proof_. Proof of what love can do, what second chances can do, of how _good_ they can be if only one embraces them. Proof that she wasn’t wrong to try to help Regina so long ago, this is what that woman could have been experiencing if she’d only been _brave enough_ \- but she hadn’t, and she destroyed Tink’s entire life.

Not just Tink’s.

"Did you ever go back and find him?" she asks, sitting stiffly beside Regina and staring into the jungle, trying to control her rage. "The man with the lion tattoo?"

She already knows what the answer will be.


	28. Too Late

**"You had your chance..."**

 

Emma wasn't jealous of her own son.

Not at all - but, just, the ship was _cool_ , it was a pirate ship, _the_ pirate ship, the _Jolly Roger_ after all and, to be honest, she'd always been the little kid who wanted to play pirates in elementary school.

And she'd done a fantastic job in Neverland, thank you very much, she'd had more success steering through that storm than anyone else except Hook himself, it wasn't like she was bad at sailing or anything, it just - it wasn't _fair,_ because Henry was a goddamned natural and Hook played _favorites_.

"You had your chance, Swan, out of the way," he grinned after the _first mistake_ she made leaving the harbor, less than three minutes into their day-long sailing trip, and ushered Henry behind the wheel instead, speaking to him in low tones about the wind and currents and something that sounded distressingly technical but Henry was just nodding along because Hook had been giving him _lessons_ on all this already, Emma wouldn't touch the wheel again today because he had an _unfair advantage_ and –

"You're lucky you guys are cute," she grumbled when Hook ruffled Henry's hair, and stomped off to deal with the sails (her technique of which Henry corrected and Hook beamed down at him and called him 'a real pirate in the making' and _she wasn't jealous_ , okay).


	29. Walking Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given the nature of the AU, I'm warning for gore and dark themes. There's actually not a lot of detail, but if it bothers you skip this one.
> 
> Not actually a crossover, despite the title. You could picture it in that world, if you want, but it's not specific.

**Zombie AU.**

 

They meet the way men and women so often do: eye contact across a crowded room. He moves toward her first, but it doesn't take her long to meet him halfway. They press together and apart, bodies becoming acquainted long before they even attempt to speak, shouting against the noise. It's typical, really.

Well, maybe the sword is a little unusual.

He beheads a large man in a trucker hat, and continues the same movement to spin around and block a tiny blonde woman going for Emma's jugular. At the same time she's smashing in the brains of what was once the store's manager, judging by the label on his shirt. The movement presses her back fully up against his chest, and for a moment she feels heat rushing through her at the feel of his strong, _living_ body against her, before a soccer mom attempts to eat her alive and she's distracted again.

After they get out safely (against all odds), they exchange names.

"Emma Swan," she says. "What's with the sword?"

"Killian Jones," he drawls in return - with an _accent_ , wonderful - looking her up and down and running his tongue across his teeth. "Why don't you come closer and feel for yourself?"

He's lean and strong, dark hair peeking out of the v-neck of his shirt, blue eyes flashing bright with interest as he hooks his fingers into his belt and raises an eyebrow at her. There are bits of gore splattered across his face and it should probably disturb her that they make him even more attractive. She can't remember how long it's been since she's had sex.

"Yeah, that's never gonna happen," she tells him, and he grins even wider.

"I love a challenge."

" _Never,_ pal."

 

She lasts two weeks.

 

In Emma's defense, three days before she finally caves her hand gets sliced open by a former beautician's ragged fingernails on a supply run. There's probably some level of irony in that, but Emma isn't much inclined to care. It's a decent sized cut, that's all that matters; there's definitely blood and it's going to scar.

Assuming she lives that long.

Killian is the one who notices. They're passing through an empty alleyway, almost back at the old library they've been calling home, when he catches her arm suddenly, and in a low voice says, "You're hurt."

"What?" Emma asks, tugging away, and only then noticing the pain shooting up her arm. "No. I'm fine."

Killian's eyes are dark and serious, and his grip is tight. "No, you're not."

Emma's seen this before. She was running with a group of guys a few months ago - rough types mostly, the kind she would have once been hunting down to stick back in jail. They weren't exactly her friends, but they were useful to have around for safety's sake - at least until the day the one man she got along with best, a compulsive but kind liar named August, was bitten on the leg. It wasn't that bad an injury, but the others didn't even give him a day to see if it was infected. Shot him five times on the spot.

The next time they ran into a horde, Emma left them all for dead.

But Killian Jones pulls her hand closer to him, and doesn't even flinch when she whips out her knife with her other hand and holds it to his throat.

"Let me go," she threatens.

"Let me help you," he returns, staring straight into her eyes as he slowly reaches into his pocked and pulls out his flask. He pops the lid with his teeth, maintaining eye contact as he reaches out slowly to pour the contents over her palm.

It burns, but by the time she's done flinching he's already ripped off a piece of his shirt and is winding it carefully around her hand: once, twice, three times.

He bends forward to tug the knot tight with his teeth, his left hand still gripping her wrist. The movement presses his throat directly against her knife, denting his skin. Emma's breath is caught in her lungs.

"What's the rule," he asks softly, drawing back. "Three days?"

 

Exactly three days later, she walks up to him and asks to feel his sword, please.

His laughter is rich and dark and she kisses it hungrily away.

Apparently Emma's easy: all he had to do was offer her a drink.


	30. Our Own Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm warning for dark themes, including murder and torture. If the last one bothered you, definitely don't read this.

**Serial killer AU.**

 

Some wiseass at a newspaper came up with the idea of calling her 'the Savior', because of what they assume is her religious obsession. Emma hates the name, because they are completely wrong. She doesn't believe God exists, and even if he did she knows full well she'd be headed straight to hell for what she does. Religion plays no part in what she does.

Emma crucifies people because she likes to watch them die slowly. If there were another easy, nonmessy method of prolonging a death for hours (sometimes _days_ ), she'd use that one. As it is, though, she strings them up and then sits back and smiles as the life slowly drains out of them.

There are a whole bunch of ways they die. Usually their arms grow weak and they asphyxiate once they can no longer hold themselves up. Sometimes their hearts give out, or the nails through their hands get infected, or they go into shock from blood loss. She's no doctor, but Emma's pretty sure some of them have simply died from dehydration.

She loves it. Emma never takes pity and kills one early, because she needs them to _feel_ the life dripping out of them with every second, until there isn't any left. They're hanging, helpless, just waiting for someone to come save them, but no one ever comes. Their muscles tremble and give out, their breathing goes ragged, rattling in their chests. And Emma watches every beautiful minute of it.

Sometimes, they beg. She hates that; it doesn't change anything, it just makes them even more pitiful. Emma usually chooses people she has no remorse whatsoever about killing: criminals, rapists, corrupt businessmen, and the like. Scum of the earth. Still, there are some of them who are brave. Instead of sobbing, they glare at her; instead of begging for mercy or trying to cut a deal, they threaten to murder her themselves. Those are her favorites.

And then there is the man who _smiles_ at her, blue eyes glittering.

"Ooh," he says as soon as he wakes up, twisting his head to inspect the ropes knotted tightly around his wrists (Emma only uses the nails when she feels like it; today was not that sort of day). "You're a tough lass, aren't you?"

"'Tough lass?'" she repeats, cocking an eyebrow and flopping down on the couch she keeps directly in front of her cross. She likes to get comfortable. "Normally I get a better reaction than _that_."

He shrugs as best he can, tugging futilely at the ropes a few times before giving up. "Sorry to disappoint, love."

For a few minutes, they're both quiet. He doesn't look at all upset; in fact, he's looking Emma up and down with clear _desire,_ and grins widely when she glares at him.

"If I might ask," he eventually breaks the silence, "why did you choose me? I've heard you like to punish sinners, is that -"

Emma makes a face at the same old misconception, and he surprises her by laughing out loud.

"No," he says, sounding absolutely delighted, "of course that's not it. Not at _all_." He runs his tongue over his teeth. "Then I suppose you don't wish for me to call you Savior. Got another name?"

Emma frowns at him for a long moment. No one has ever asked her name before (told her they had a family, doesn't she have a _family_ , yes - those are the ones she uses nails on). But… he's dying, so what's the harm? "Emma Swan."

"A pleasure, Swan," he says, and pauses to hitch himself up a little higher, the muscles in his arms flexing. "Killian Jones at your service - though perhaps you know me by my more colorful moniker: _Hook_."

Emma gets up and leaves the room.

 

She comes back a couple of hours later, this time with a bowl of popcorn. Jones is hanging limply, breathing heavily through his mouth. As soon as he sees her, though, he heaves himself back up as best he can, bracing his feet on the wood and straining his arms to keep himself upright.

"Your name is even stupider than mine," Emma says, and he chuckles.

"You think so? I'm rather fond of it."

She rolls her eyes and eats a handful of popcorn, eyeing the sweat beading on his neck. "Hook, as in Captain Hook? It's stupid. You don't even use a hook. And you definitely aren't collecting their hands because of some impotence thing like that one article says."

"I'm flattered by your faith in my virility," Jones smirks. "Perhaps I'm eating them."

"If you were going to do that, you'd pick an organ. No," Emma says, and leans forward, meeting his eyes. "You take whichever hand they were using to hold their sword."

His eyes flash eagerly. He also leans towards her, as far as he is able. "What makes you think they'd have a sword?"

"Because you give it to them. You give them a sword and tell them to fight, and if they can't win you take their hand." Emma's heart is beating fast; she watches Jones carefully. "You want a fair fight, like you never had."

"And you, Swan, want to watch them wait helplessly for a rescue that will never come - just as _you_ once did." His voice is low and serious, his words cutting, but there's no hostility to them at all.

"I guess we understand each other," Emma says softly. His eyes drag over her once again and she can feel her skin tingling, heat building in her gut.

"I guess we do," Jones says, and coughs. His arms are starting to tremble.

 

He's been hanging for close to a day when he clears his throat to get Emma's attention.

"Swan," he says, his voice rough. "I just want you to know - I had my eye on you, the moment you walked through the door."

She blinks, and stands up, setting her book aside. "You did?"

Jones grins, a little wincing but sincere. "Of course. I could tell you'd be the fight of my life." He laughs, shaking his head a little. "Didn't expect _this_ , but - I'm impressed, Swan. You've bested me."

Emma stalks closer, remembering when she first saw him at the club the previous night. Somehow she'd just - just _known_ that she had to have him. She had never seen him commit any crime but she'd felt it sizzling in the air between them as they danced close together: this man was a murderer.

She'd caught his hand and lured him outside as soon as possible. Leaned in as if she were going to kiss him, and stabbed him with a needle full of propofol in the same moment. It was the first time she'd ever been so hasty, but she couldn't stand the thought of letting this man get away.

She drags over the stepladder she used to tie him up, and stands in front of him. Slowly, she reaches out and wraps her hand lightly around the side of his neck. She can feel his pulse against the center of her palm.

Jones smiles, slow and enticing. "You're bloody brilliant, Emma."

She leans forward and kisses him.

He kisses back instantly, straining forward desperately, panting into her mouth. She can hear the ropes creaking as he pulls at them, as though attempting to reach out and touch her. She reaches up a hand and cards it through his thick, sweaty hair and he groans, tugging at her lip. He tilts his head and opens his mouth further and it's like he wants to _devour_ her, he's kissing her breathless, wearing himself out to do so.

His arms unlock and he drops, breaking their kiss as he gasps wearily for air. Emma stands frozen for a moment, her heart pounding wildly. Her lips are buzzing, her cheeks stinging from stubble burn; she feels dazed and dizzy and she _wants_ him, she wants to feel his hands on her skin, wants to touch him everywhere she can, wants to watch him duel someone and kill them, wants to see where he keeps the hands, wants to cuddle with him on the couch and watch the life leaving someone - she _wants it all_.

She jumps down, moves her stool, and cuts him down. He crumples to the floor, letting his raw wrists dangle in his lap, and slips down the crucifix until his back is flat on the floor. He coughs for a while, then takes many slow, deep breaths.

Emma brings him water and bandages, and kisses him softly on the lips.

He grins up at her and says, "Swan, I think we're going to make quite the team."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this one enough to want more, you're in luck: [Tam](http://scheherezade06.tumblr.com/) wrote an _amazing_ sequel that I strongly urge you to check out.
> 
> You can read it on [FFN](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10038826/23/A-Dozen-Assorted) or on [Tumblr](http://scheherezade06.tumblr.com/post/98484214490/torn-for-vicky).


	31. More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt really, just me this time.

They've been drinking for a while now, everyone else at the table long gone and Emma's starting to feel a little out of her depth. She hasn't exactly been able to toss out every drink, and the inn's rum is more certainly potent – but that's not the real problem. The problem is Hook.

Emma's done this before. She couldn't even count how often she's flirted with a mark (whether to rob them or arrest them), and she's always had the situation under control. Always had _herself_ under control.

But Hook is – he's not _her_ Hook, that much is obvious; but he's still the same person, and Emma can feel herself teetering on the edge of being genuine all too often. It's not like she really wants this Hook. He wouldn't want her either, not for more than a quick roll in the sheets, and as – _damn_ – as tempting as that is, there are a hundred reasons never to let it happen.

But he's got such a strong presence, even drunk off his ass; he's smirking, leaning in close and Emma finds herself playing with his hook, flirting with him through nautical terms, and she doesn't even know how much of it she means (maybe all of it, if only it were the right one). She wonders what her Hook would do if she spoke to him like this. She smiles and leans closer and shivers a little at the way this Hook's voice dips, his eyes sliding slowly up and down her form without any shame at all. His knee presses against hers under the table and Emma can feel the heat crawling all through her.

It's just a ruse.

Keep him distracted.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk – which is usually my tactic," Hook says, pointing between them. His words are all too sharp, or they would be if he sounded like he cared, but it still makes Emma nervous.

"What's wrong, Captain?" she goads, with a smile that _should_ be all artifice (yet isn't), "Can't hold your rum?"

"No, not only can I _hold_ it," he says, wagging his finger in front of her face, and she wants to giggle, licks her lips trying not to grin too hard. He's so drunk, it's – it's exactly what she wants, what she _needs_ him to be, that's all that matters. "But I can carry it right out the door."

(He's adorable.)

"What do you say we set sail?" he whispers, leaning in so close she can taste the rum on his breath. And Emma _should_ have a ready answer, some flirtation to keep him just eager enough, to keep him here just a bit longer, to keep firmly under her sway. Once he starts taking the lead ( _really_ leading, not just thinking he is), Emma knows it's all downhill from there. She has to maintain control. She has to stay in charge here.

But this is _Hook_ , and he's smirking down at her, and she _has_ had a few drinks. The tension between them has been burning hot since they first _met_ , and only gotten worse over the past few weeks. Hook's standing over Emma in that damned red vest she's never seen him wear before, staring openly at her with lust and drink clouding his gaze; and for a moment Emma can't help but _want_ what he's offering, want it bad enough to burn.

He must be able to see the hesitation and desire warring on her face, because his smirk widens as he stands, spreading his arms in offer. "Come back with me for a nightcap…" (and she shouldn't, she shouldn't, she can't stop herself _wanting_ because this is _Hook_ ) "Or shall I find someone else?"

It takes all her years of experience not to drop her smile.

There is a single moment of shock – because he might say that, she's not going to pretend he would never say that, tries to tell herself he might say that, _he wouldn't say that_ – followed rapidly by realization, chilling down her spine.

This isn't her Hook.

No matter what she's been telling herself, she must have forgotten. But this isn't the man who climbed a beanstalk with her, who helped her save her son from Pan, who said "as you wish" after she'd kissed him. This isn't the Hook who said he's never seen her fail, who called her beautiful and strong and told her she can't give up. This Hook has never called her out for running scared, has never told her she was an orphan or that she could be happy now, _this_ Hook never said he'd think of her every day, never found her a year later. This Hook would never follow her down a time portal; he wouldn't give anything for her, he doesn't _know_ her. She doesn't mean a thing to him.

With this Hook, there is no _until I met you_. There is only _shall I find someone else_ – and it doesn't matter that he's just bantering. What matters is that if she disappeared from his life right now, he would find someone else, he wouldn't miss her – and he shouldn't, she never should have expected different. She _didn't_ expect different. That was part of the plan: he'll forget her, and go back to hunting his revenge – because revenge is all that this Hook cares about.

("You don't know him," Hook had warned her. "Just be careful.")

She feels disappointed and stupid and more than a little lonely.

He's still grinning down at her, drunk and horny and clueless. Emma smiles slowly, deliberately this time, and stands up.

"I'm that replaceable, am I?" she asks, then shrugs, "Fine then."

She's only gone two steps when he reacts as predicted – she hears him curse loudly and stumble after her, his hand catching her shoulder and whirling her back around.

"Now, don't be like that, lass," he urges, stepping closer, but Emma looks away stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest. She knows this game well.

"You're right you know," she says haughtily, and gestures at the women who had been flanking Hook when she first approached him. He summarily dismissed them along with the rest of his crew, right after Emma had downed three shots without ever breaking eye contact. They seemed a little bitter at the time, and looking at them now she's not surprised to find that hasn't changed. She isn't lying when she tells him, "You'd have no trouble finding someone else."

He doesn't even glance their way. Instead, he uses his hook to push the hair out of her face, and Emma has to hold back a sigh.

"I don't care about any of _them_ ," Hook pleads, inching closer. Emma bites her lip; he smiles. "You're the only one for me, love."

The words send a little hot jolt through her despite everything, because it's Hook's voice, soft and rough and sweet, but his eyes betray the truth. This Hook doesn't mean what he's saying, doesn't have the slightest idea how true his words will one day be.

He doesn't know what he's going to do for her, what she's going to mean to him (and Emma's only denied, denied all this time, but watching him now the difference is so very clear).

This Hook loves only his revenge.

_Her_ Hook, though – Killian Jones, he's a different story.

"I guess I am," Emma says softly, her heart aching, and takes the hand Hook offers.

(When he kisses her, it's good. There's no denying that; it's hot, deep, she feels it down to her toes and her lips tingle pleasantly after. Drunk though he is, Hook though he is, her body immediately wants _more_.)

(When she kisses Killian, it's better. Softer, gentler, with less take-me-now passion maybe – but this man gave up his ship to find her again. On his lips, Emma tastes the _more_ her heart has been wanting all her life.)


	32. Label

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains **spoilers** for some filming pictures, and references [this interview](http://vickyvicarious.tumblr.com/post/93127376836/youreapunk-colin-odonoghue-new-one) from Comic-Con.

When they kiss outside the diner, it feels inevitable. It feels only natural, they fall into it so easily, and there’s something strangely calm about it. A sort of certainty, in his thumb on her cheek, the way she can’t help her smile.

They lean together and kiss and kiss and just… kiss, and it feels simple. It feels right. Emma doesn’t care who sees, or what to call this - it just _is_ , and she wants to enjoy it. She’s damn well _determined_ to enjoy this.

Their shoulders brush together as they walk back inside together.

* * *

Turns out they brought back Maid Marian.

"Emma," Killian says softly, after the shouting ends. "You did nothing wrong."

"You’re the one who told me not to bring her back with us," she sighs, feeling like shit.

"You saved her life."

"I know," Emma says, and she does.

He tucks her hair behind an ear with his hook, and smiles at her. Her shoulders drop, and she smiles tiredly back.

* * *

"All right, let’s go," Emma nods, and is turning to follow her parents, when Killian steps in front of her.

"Swan, wait," he says, and he’s got his hand gripping on to her jacket, he’s shuffling closer. Her breath hitches a bit.

"Now is… really not the time," Emma says, but she’s not pulling away. He grins devilishly, and tugs a little on her jacket before letting go. She puts her hands in her back pockets to keep herself from acting on the impulse to _touch_. “We’re kind of in a rush here, if you didn’t notice.”

"I appreciate your desire to _draw things out_ ,” he says, nudging closer and she can feel herself smiling, tilting forward, “and I would love to take my time with you,” (this is ridiculous, his head is ducking down) “-but there’s something to be said for stolen moments as well.”

Emma’s grin bubbles into a little laugh at the word, and this may not be exactly what David meant but hey, she’s listening to her parents’ wisdom, that’s gotta count for something.

"Can’t argue with that," she says, voice so low it’s almost a whisper, and they’re leaning in with _intent_ now -

Leroy runs up screaming about some terrible danger.

Next time, then.

* * *

Next time happens after a vicious three-way argument between Emma, Regina, and Marian that ends with… no deaths, at least - not much more can be said for it. Regina isn’t going to destroy any lives today, but she’s miserable, and Marian is miserable, and Emma feels horribly guilty but she _can’t_ make herself regret a thing, she can’t.

Robin walks up to the two women, looking like he feels just as awful as everyone else but with a determined expression nonetheless (and eyes that linger on Regina), and Emma knows when she’s not needed anymore. She walks away, shivering despite her sweater and leather jacket, and Killian is waiting when she rounds the corner.

"Hi," she says, startled.

"Hello," he replies, leaning back up against the brick wall behind him, and it’s somehow perfectly natural for Emma to step forward and close the distance between their lips.

He hums, instantly reaching a hand up to slide into her hair. His hook curves around her lower back and tugs her closer.

* * *

It’s snowing again, but much colder than a week ago, and Emma has been dressing accordingly. Sweaters and gloves and thicker jackets and a warm hat, and it’s still not enough to keep from shivering.

Killian looks at her beanie almost the exact way he looks at baby Neal - a soft, fond, _awful_ smile. It makes her feel mushy and stupid inside, makes her want to bite her lip and run her hand up his arm. Instead she glares back viciously.

"Aren’t _you_ cold?” she accuses, staring at the deep, deep v-neck of his vest, shirt mostly unbuttoned beneath it. He perks up, eyebrows waggling.

"Are you offering to warm me up, love?"

"Oh, _yeah_ ,” Emma says, watching his eyes darken, and speed-dials David to take him clothes shopping.

He pouts, he’s an idiot, she feels more than warm enough already.

* * *

There’s another _next time_ that night, and it’s more than a little out of control, because Killian Jones in modern clothes is no less _devilishly handsome_ , he’s wearing flannel and jeans and Emma can’t stop herself thinking about what this means. He’s _here_ , he’s a part of Storybrooke now, he’s making eyes at her in a brand new leather jacket because he _gave up his ship for her_ and as soon as they’re alone she’s all over him.

They’re panting, mouths open, pressing up against each other all warm and rough and reckless. Emma’s _handsy_ , feeling up his arms, grabbing at his hair, his cheeks, she’s got a hand up his shirt soon enough and they’re in the middle of the hall, in plain sight for anyone who walks by, they need to stop but she doesn’t _want_ to stop.

"Bloody hell," Killian gasps, and his hand is on her ass, and Emma thinks _moments, moments_ , doesn’t care who walks by, kisses him again.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Emma says, face buried in her hands. She’s just had a brief but unfortunately violent first encounter with the latest addition to town, and all her fairytale defenses are crumbling. "I thought I could handle this - we just fought the Wicked _Witch,_ I saw my mom get turned into a bug, I thought - but _Frozen?_ ”

Henry shrugs, taking a bite of his grilled cheese sandwich.

"Really?" Emma asks. "Come on kid, you’ve got to have something better than that."

"I guess it’s cool," he says - stops to grin at the pun once he notices, and Emma rolls her eyes - "but seriously Mom, it’s kind of normal by now. Definitely not as big a deal as my moms dating Robin Hood and Captain Hook."

Emma chokes on her third hot chocolate of the day (it’s been so weirdly _cold_ , god why didn’t she realize).

"What," she says. "Dating - _what_.”

The bell jingles on top of the door as Killian walks into the diner.

"It’s not like - I mean, we’re not," Emma fumbles, as Killian starts walking over with a smile and Henry stares at her skeptically. "I mean, we’re friends, we’re. It’s not like Killian’s my _boyfriend_ -“

"What was that, Swan? Hello, lad."

Henry’s grin turns a little evil. “Hi, Killian,” he says, and scoots over to make room in his booth. The pirate sits down and steals one of the kid’s fries, and Henry tugs his plate away and Killian snatches another one anyway and Emma has to look away.

Her heart aches. Just a little.

They eventually come to an agreement, Henry separating a small portion of fries from the rest, and Killian looks back up at her. He raises both his eyebrows expectantly.

"I was just telling Henry we’re not-"

"Come on," Henry interrupts, looking highly amused. "It’s pretty obvious. Are you even trying to hide it?"

"No," Emma says in a rush, too fast maybe, but she _isn’t_ hiding anything anymore,  that’s not what - “We’re not hiding anything, we just haven’t been on a d- I mean, fine. If you want to call him my boyfriend. I wouldn’t use that - but, sure. Okay.”

She picks up her mug and takes a deep drink of hot chocolate to keep from saying anything more. Her cheeks are too hot, but at least she can pretend it’s because of the warm drink, now.

Across the table, Killian’s lips have started tugging up as Emma stumbled over her words. Bit by bit, they’re lifting into - into what is possibly the smarmiest grin Emma’s ever _seen_ , and he waits - the asshole waits until she’s just taken another drink, and then he says -

"Oh, I’m no _boy_ ,” and the fucker _winks_ at her, says, “I’m all man, I assure you… but you’re welcome to che-,” and Emma almost chokes again. She can feel her cheeks going bright red as she sets her mug down quickly, and kicks him under the table.

He catches her foot between his ankles and bites his lip and Emma _hates_ him, wants to drag him to the bathroom and do unspeakable things to him, wants to watch him steal Henry’s fries and laugh at his eagerness to figure out every function on his cell phone without any help, and,  _dammit_.

"You know what, I think I need to talk to my _manfriend_ in private for a minute,” Emma snarls, making Henry laugh. She yanks her leg free, glaring, and Killian’s smile has dropped a little. He’s not getting up quickly enough, so she grabs his hand to pull him along as she heads outside and around the corner.

It’s bitingly cold, and a light snowfall is coming down, and Emma is really going to have to talk to Elsa about this without making her panic again, but that doesn’t matter right now, she’s shoving Killian up against the side of building and their breath is clouding up the air between them.

"Swan, are-"

"Don’t," Emma says, and kisses him. Once. Hard enough to take both their breath away. "Don’t make innuendo about your  _manhood_ in front of Henry, you idiot.”

"It was j-"

She kisses him again. And again when he tries to say something else, and again when he tries a third time, and then rolls her eyes and pulls away when he grins and keeps talking.

"Come on, it’s freezing out here," Emma says, and gets only three steps before Killian catches up, shoulder bumping into hers, fingers catching at her fingers, and there it is again. That feeling in her gut, too warm for the weather, that want for more than just skin on skin, for _all the moments_.

She feels like everyone is looking at their joined hands when they step back inside. Henry definitely is… but he’s smiling, and Killian’s hand squeezes hers, and Emma -

Emma does _not_ let it go (but does laugh at the pun), pulling Killian back to the table and into _her_ side of the booth this time, where he proceeds to steal her fries and start a conversation with Henry about cheating at poker, of all things. She should probably stop them.

She joins in with some tips of her own.


	33. Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt this time, just me. Also, this is really more Swan Believer, but it's all about the CS relationship, so yeah.

She does sit down with him to talk about it. Sort of interrupts an apartment-hunting session to do so, about a week after the whole time thing. It’s a little late, maybe, but there is a lot else going on, and maybe she shouldn’t be doing this at all yet, but it feels like it would be ridiculous  _not_  to, so-

"So," Emma says, kind of glancing over the top of the housing section of the _Storybrooke Mirror_ , “Killian and I are kind of… together.”

Henry all but rolls his eyes at her (the brat). “Uh, yeah, I know.”

Emma  _does_  roll her eyes at him (hey, she’s never claimed not to be a brat herself). “Uh,  _yeah_ , kid, I know you know.”

It’s not like they’ve been keeping it a secret, really. Even if Emma were a fan of secret relationships at all - which she isn’t, thanks to both natural inclination and unpleasant experience - their first kiss (first  _real_  kiss) outside Granny’s wasn’t exactly subtle. Anyone could’ve glanced out the window and seen them. Probably a lot of people did.

They just, it’s not something they’ve been making a big deal of in front of everyone else. People probably know, but there’s just so much else going on, with Regina and Robin and Marian, and that way-too-sudden-to-be-natural cold front, and rumors of a new villain in town - just, there are more important things to focus on right now than the state of Emma’s love life.

(This conversation is… different. Is probably the most important thing.)

"I’m not telling you because I thought you didn’t know," Emma says. Kind of smiles, fiddles with the corner of the newspaper, continues: "I just… wanted to tell you, see what you thought about it?"

Henry stares at her. There’s this smile growing on his face that’s almost  _sad_ , and it sends a kind of panic thrumming through her veins. She gives herself a papercut messing with the newspaper, and hardly even notices.

"Mom, you dated Walsh for  _months_  before you even let us meet,” Henry says, and that’s not - not what she was expecting, she blinks and he shakes his head and actually laughs: “You know we just had this exact same conversation about him, right? When he  _proposed_  to you. And even then,  _I_ had to bring it up.”

She’s still staring at him blankly, finger stinging, and Henry’s smile is getting wider, he’s - he’s saying, “It’s okay, Mom.”

( _Trust your gut, Swan._ ) _  
_

(She feels like she might cry.)

"What - what about you?" Emma asks, and her voice is halting and strained, way too emotional way too fast, but Henry’s - she doesn’t want to use him as an excuse again, doesn’t want to hide and run but this kid is  _everything_  to her, and she needs to  _know -_ "I know you were getting along, but now that you have your memories back, what do you think?"

"Killian? He’s cool." Henry shrugs like it’s that simple. "I like him."

(And - again, she can’t help but think it’s such a difference from  _he’s okay.)_

"Good," is all Emma can say, voice soft.

"Yeah, sure," her son replies (and honestly, when did he get so wise?). He leans forward to pull the newspaper out of her hands, and points at a listing halfway down the page.

"What about this one? It’s right by the water."

( _…B_ _rat_ , she thinks, smiling.)


	34. Coffee Date

**Hot, steamy kiss.**

 

This time, when they get to the top of the stairs, she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t turn back or smile shyly. Emma simply unlocks her door and walks inside without a backwards glance. Killian’s left hovering awkwardly in the hallway for a confused, disappointed moment, before he registers the door still open in front of him, the lack of parental voices inside the loft.

Slowly, he steps inside, and looks around - no sign of anyone else in the royal family. In front of him, Emma presses a final button on the coffee-maker before spinning round to face him with a challenging grin.

"Coffee’s on," she says, stalking forward. "Sorry there’s no one else to share it with tonight."

He shuts the front door behind him.

"That’s quite all right, Swan," Killian murmurs, stepping forward, and if his breath catches a little when they meet in the middle of the room, well, he can’t really be blamed. "Not much in the mood to share, tonight."

"Good," she breathes, as his arms slip low around her waist, tugging her closer. She slides her hands up his chest and onto his shoulder, leaning up. "Neither am I."

Their lips connect softly, at first. Slow, eyes closed, hardly moving at all - at first. Then she tilts her head and kisses a little harder, and he’s breathing out heavy through his nose and kissing back, tugging her closer until they’re pressing tight against each other, he feels her fingernails dig into his shoulders, they’re rocking back and forth, he can feel every  _inch_ of her against him, there’s a tight heat in his gut. He feels her moan vibrating against his lips more than hears it, his hand leaves her waist to tangle in her hair, they’re still kissing, close and closer and still, still - until they can’t breathe anymore, until they have to pull back just a little, just enough to rest his forehead on hers and pant against her lips.

And he’s feeling flushed and wanting and utterly blissed  _already_ , there’s a helpless grin on his face when he opens his eyes… and sees Emma smiling back just as wide, eyes fixed on his.

His heart thuds helplessly harder in his chest as they kiss again.


	35. Sleep

**a headcanon**

* * *

 

Killian hogs the bed. He sleeps all over the place, spread out over every available inch of mattress, if he's alone. If Emma's in the bed with him though, instead of spreading out he curls in, tries to wrap his body around hers in any way possible.

And it's annoying because usually Emma doesn't even like to cuddle when she's going to sleep, she prefers to have a little space (and cooler sheets) but the thing is Killian doesn't seem at all aware he's doing it and something about that kind of, well - it  _tugs_  at her a little, makes her sigh and let him wrap his arms around her and tangle his legs in hers and breathe on her neck. And maybe she even curls a little closer herself. Maybe she smiles.

They both have nightmares on a fairly regular basis, still. But it's less often since they've started sleeping like this.


	36. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You never get a second chance to make a first impression… unless you're CS, in which case you get five.
> 
> (Seriously, we are so lucky, I'm still not over this.)

**killian: firewater**

She puts her hands on the table and leans down, quick.

"What are you boys playing?" she asks, voice low and eyes only on him.

He hears himself make a noise. His swallow is rough, and his mouth is falling open, and he doesn't care because she - well.

She's got long blonde hair and a deep scoop of a dress and her smile is confidence itself. She knows what she wants and she knows she is going to get it and Killian's not in the least inclined to disagree. Her eyes gleam with amusement as he unceremoniously tells his companions to scram, and he can't tell in the candlelight if they're blue or green. He wants to know.

He wants to kiss her.

Wants to do far, far more than _that_ , and he's already imbibed a fair bit tonight, that's nothing unusual, but then she circles the table - _slow_ \- and her fingertips skim along his jacket, brush behind his neck and trail down his arm as she sits next to him with a wicked grin and a jug of ale.

The firewater burns down his throat, again and again and he wants her name, wants the color of her eyes, wants her lips and skin and sighs against his own, he just _wants_ and she's smiling like she knows everything he's thinking. Like she's planned it that way.

Her cheeks are flushed red and her fingers on his hook and he's _impatient_ for her in a way that's definitely out of the ordinary. But then, this woman is far from ordinary.

This woman, his ship in the night, she's the furthest thing from ordinary, and he's too drunk now for the thought to alarm, but it _lingers_ : he doesn't want to pass her by.

* * *

**emma: chance**

She sees him first.

Aurora and Mulan are the ones who get there first, and so they're the ones who pull the body off his back, and Snow is the one to soothe him when he begs for help. He breathes out his thanks, and looks between them all, fast.

"Thank you," he says again, this time barely a whisper. It's aimed directly at Emma.

And she thinks: _liar_.

It makes sense to be suspicious; she probably would be regardless. One man surviving Cora's massacre, waking just as they walk past… it's far too convenient. But it's more than that, too, because when he saw Emma he _stopped_ for a second, like he'd found what he was searching for.

He's wearing those rings she just can't reconcile with 'blacksmith', that edge of a sob in his voice is a little too obvious, and more than anything, the look in his eyes…

"I'm telling you the truth," he lies, solemn and low.

Emma smiles. She thinks, _good_. Maybe it's wrong but she thinks this could be a chance. Cora's spy has to be more useful than a traumatized survivor would be, and while she wouldn't have any idea what to do with the latter…

Pulling the knife on him is easy. She'll be brutal, and cold if that'll help her get back to Henry, and she is entirely willing to leave him for the ogres because she _saw_ that look in his eyes and she knows he's not the sort to die loyal.

He's in this for himself, somehow. Emma can use that.

"Good for you!" he shouts as she walks away, that irritating fake fear finally gone. He sounds confident - strained, maybe, but impressed. "You've bested me."

It's the first true thing he's said.

* * *

**killian: equal**

They're taking too long, and he's sweltering under the sun and his heavy cloak and the body stinking above him, so he finally gets fed up and waves his hand around to get their attention. Luckily, it works - seconds later they're all gathered around him, tugging him free and trying to help him up, and he pulls out his best cringing.

He's looking for the Savior.

It's not the first, not in clothing like that, and he's already familiar with Mulan, but the one with short hair and bright garments and assurances that he won't be harmed… maybe. She seems an easy mark, he's thinking, and he thanks her, and then he glances up -

Now _there_ is a Savior.

"Thank you," he tells her. Says it directly to her, so quiet it's almost lost in his throat, because he's too busy taking her in to keep up the act: she stands a little back from the rest, sunlight shining in her long blonde hair and a dubious look on her face. She's wearing red leather, he likes that about her. She's frowning. She's beautiful.

It's difficult to remember to look away.

Doesn't get much easier later, when she stands together with Mulan (warriors both, and the soft touches are on the other side of him, and he can't turn away from Emma long to work their sympathies - she's good) and interrogates him.

She puts her hands on the table and leans in a little, hair swinging before her, and there's an uncomfortable twinge in his memory, a flash of familiarity before it's gone again.

It throws him off-balance. Or maybe it's the quiet, almost gentle way she speaks, those noncommittal statements and just a hint of disgust at the tale he's spinning. Whether it's the cowardice or the fact that she's convinced it's a lie, he can't be sure. Maybe both.

"I'm gonna let you in on a little secret," she leans in close to tell Killian, her voice the softest yet and _dangerous:_ "I'm pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me."

"I'm telling you the truth," he says, but her smile after - well, it says enough. The Savior isn't biting. If he has any chance of salvaging this, it'll have to be through her companion, the easy mark. So he stays low, curled into himself, weak and quiet and asks about the grandson to ease the mood, tries to speak only to the soft side of the table as he makes his offer.

He's interrupted by a knife to his throat and a Savior hissing in his ear (and a shiver down his spine, something like a grin on his face).

She calls the ogres and _walks away_ , and he can tell she isn't going to stop. She isn't bluffing in the slightest, no mark but an equal and he's… impressed, damn it. She's strong. She's confident, she's determined, she's bloody frustrating but she's _smart_ and he finds himself liking her, finds himself curious.

When she asks for his name, he tells her, "Killian Jones."

* * *

**emma: familiar**

Even after all this time, her first instinct is fear. Whoever is pounding on the door sounds frantic, and Emma sure as hell isn't expecting anyone, so her head goes straight to who might be angry at her for dragging them to court.

But then she tells herself she's being stupid, none of them know where she lives and she hasn't even dealt with anyone dangerous in a while. She tries not to, with Henry. It's probably a mis-delivered package or something.

The man at the door, though -

" _Swan_ ," he breathes out, through a smile like he's found everything he could ever want, and it's. Stunning. Not even because he's gorgeous, which he is, but he looks so _overjoyed_ at the sight of her, and she doesn't know what to…

"At last," he says, and starts to just walk right in. That snaps her out of her daze, and she holds him back, asks if she knows him. It's a stupid question - looking at him now, he's _striking_ , for his looks alone, and then there's the black leather getup and the accent, there's no way she has met this man and forgotten about him. No way she has ever given him _her address_ , and she should be a hell of a lot more worried about that but she keeps getting stuck on the way he smiled when she opened the door _._

But then he starts talking about her family, the sorest of subjects, and he believes every word he's saying, and he - he calls himself an old friend, and it _has_ to be a lie, she doesn't have any of those, certainly none like this, but somehow…

"I know you can't remember me, but," he says with a tremble in his voice, and there's something about it that's _almost_ \- "I can make you."

He surges forward, tugs her into a kiss; and for a second, that _almost_ becomes something more, something _certain_.

She reacts fast, knees him and shoves him back, and that should be it but she feels _breathless_.

"What the hell are you doing?" Emma gasps, clinging to the door for support and trying not to outright panic at the flash of - that vivid moment of _familiarity_ , of wanting and longing and finally - she doesn't know what the hell is going on.

It's fading already.

She threatens him and slams the door and, and goes back to breakfast like nothing just happened. Tells herself nothing did, it was just some random crazy pervert and she knows how to deal with those.

But she can't shake it, keeps thinking about it through breakfast and looks for him when they leave the house, turns it over in her mind on the way to work, she can't _stop_.

Nothing about him read 'pervert', and Emma's usually pretty good at telling. The words out of his mouth were insane and he wasn't lying so he had to be crazy, but he didn't _feel_ crazy. He felt… he really did feel familiar, despite all logic, and it freaks Emma out.

He looked at her like she was _everything_ , and some part of her still wants to hear his story out.

If she sees him again, she's definitely going to get him arrested.

* * *

**killian: hero**

She slams right into him, and - he's done for.

Killian already knows he's lost all sense, ever since that meeting that boy, brave and determined and dragging him after, but… She's warm in his arms, and beaming, open-mouthed, her hands on his chest, her…

He can't _think_ , and it takes an embarrassing few seconds to even realize Henry is introducing them. He has to pull his head back and clear his throat and try to drag his thoughts away from simply leaning in -

"Yeah, um." His breath escapes him in a giddy almost-laugh, he's completely - "Pleasure."

He holds out his hand; she places hers into it and his breath stops when their hands touch, he doesn't want to let go, can't move away.

"Yeah, right. Look, we need to… get going," she says, finally pulls herself away, her eyes leaving his last of all before she starts to dash down the corridor. "We've got a wedding to stop!"

Killian turns after her, helpless with his hand still held up in the air. He's still having trouble thinking.

They _defeat a dragon_ together not ten minutes later, and he's already devoted. He's already thrown away what little life he had before, but he wouldn't turn back if he could, because this woman and her boy, they believe in him. He isn't worthy of it but they _trust_ him and the way she smiles makes his heart race, makes him hope - he can't really believe it, he's a stumbling, stuttering mess. And she is so much more, strong and beautiful and good, a _hero_ and he's just a deckhand, but…

"I sense that we, uh, we may be close."

"Very," she says, pressed all against him, and Killian is already willing to devote his life to Emma's cause. To Emma herself.

He wants her to succeed, for Henry to get back to his home and Emma to save her family, and he wants to be whatever he was in that reality that brought him close to them, that they believe in. He wants to be a hero to match her.

He wants to be that close again.


End file.
